


Neverland

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist Manga, Chaptered, Community: het_bigbang, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  What if Kimblee didn’t die in the Promised Day battle?  What if Grumman wasn’t available to step in and take control of the country?  What if the alchemists were suddenly considered Enemy Number One by the military? </p><p>Warnings:  This is an alternate reality, and as such, things do not happen quite the way they did in the manga; people live, people die, people remain alchemists… There will be violence, deaths, sex, and other stuff.  I've stolen Frank Archer from the 2003 anime, however, you probably won't recognize him.  </p><p>Disclaimer:  Arakawa’s world is hers.  This is a tribute to her incredible work, and as such, I make absolutely no money.   Likewise, I do not own any of the lyrics listed in this story as chapter headings.  As I'm unsure who wrote most of the songs, the lyrics are attributed to the artist(s) who sang them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/gifts).



> Much thanks to my beta readers, Kalirush, Anat Astarte, and CornerofMadness. Also, a huge thanks to Suzume, for her gorgeous art! If you'd like to see the art, go [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/943287)!

  
**Prologue: Death**   
_…if you think Peace_   
_Is a common goal_   
_That goes to show_   
_How little you know_   
**\- The Smiths, “Death of a Disco Dancer”**   


The battlefield lay covered in dust, a haze still hanging in the air. Somewhere, an armored alchemist stalked across the land, but Zolf J. Kimblee sank into the dirt, choking on his own blood.

A creature that resembled a child stood above him, licking its lips. Kimblee knew Pride would take his life. The power within him would heal Pride before the homunculus ventured into Central City, to play the part that had been written for it since Father conceived of the idea of the Promised Day. As its enormous maw snapped up Kimblee, he considered his life. Beyond the pain he’d felt, he didn’t regret the things he’d done. He’d wanted to see what would happen, if the homunculi would survive, or the humans. Now, he’d know for sure. And with such a ringside seat, inside the smallest of the homunculi, he knew he’d be in for a good show. Despite the blood-red interior, it was almost cozy. Certainly a place for a sinner like himself. What surprised Kimblee was there was no one else within the homunculus. Even though there were souls there, making up Pride’s Philopher’s Stone, none of them seemed even the slightest bit coherent. Whatever they had been, they existed only as their memories now, providing energy for Pride. Just as his life had been taken from him to bolster Pride’s Philosopher’s Stone, these souls remained to give Pride power. 

Kimblee wondered at that, briefly, but decided it was no concern of his. Whatever happened now, it was in the hands of Pride, and the other homunculi. He was a bystander for as long as he retained his own consciousness, unable to take part in the final battle that lay ahead. 

The only thing he could do was sit back, figuratively, and watch. 

X X X 

Winry woke, the cold, hard surface she lay on sapping at her body’s warmth. From the way she wheezed, her lungs didn’t seem to be working right. Her vision blurred, cleared somewhat, then blurred again, until she realized her eyes and nose were running. Fumbling with her apron, she tried to clear her eyes, at least. She wiped her nose a couple of times before giving up. It was just going to run. Whatever had happened, her sinuses were affected. 

She tried to think past the headache pounding through her skull, worse than any blacksmith’s hammers. For a few seconds, the recent past remained a blur, then, suddenly, her memories returned. 

Her stomach protested the memory, and Winry swallowed hard to keep from puking. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she tried to forget the horrid sensation. Her own soul had been sucked from her body, only to wind up trapped, along with millions of other souls, within a container that seemed dark and dangerous. She didn’t know what’d prompted their escape, only that it had happened; the container had cracked like a too-full jar, releasing all those within from their captivity. 

Hands covering her mouth, a name still escaped amidst the coughing, one that might’ve been deciphered as, “Ed,” if there had been anyone to care. Winry clutched at her aching chest, all thoughts of Edward Elric and his little brother, Alphonse, driven from her head as she coughed again. Her head pounded in time to her pulse, beating rapidly, as if to make up for – something. Adrenaline rush, she thought, trying to push up; her elbows wouldn’t lock for a second and nearly pitched her back down to the cold cement floor. Still coughing, she pushed up to a sitting position through sheer force of will. 

Winry shook her head slightly, trying to clear the buzzing from her ears. Basement, she thought, she’d been hiding in the basement after she’d finally gotten back home to Risembool. Coughing again, she groaned, her hand moving up to her forehead, as if she could push the headache out of her skull that way. 

Glancing around the room, her eyes lit on her grandmother’s form, still sprawled on her side. Winry’s heart twisted. “Granny?” She crawled across the floor, ignoring the way the concrete scraped her knees. “Granny?” A cough racked her body but she kept moving, finally reaching her grandmother. Winry laid her hand on Pinako’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. “Granny, come on, please,” she said, turning the old woman onto her back. 

Half-lidded eyes stared up at the ceiling, one of Pinako’s hands knotted in the blouse of her dress. Winry gulped air, fingers fumbling at the pulse point. “No, no, no, no…” 

“Miss Rockbell!” She heard Sergeant Michelson scrambling across the floor. 

“Granny, you have to wake up,” Winry said, pressing her fingers harder into Pinako’s neck. “Please, Granny.” 

Sergeant Michelson elbowed her out of the way, tilting Pinako’s head back and clearing her airway. He blew a puff of air into her mouth, tilting his head to listen closely, then blew three more puffs. “Do you know how to breathe for someone, Winry?” She nodded jerkily as he moved down Pinako’s form, starting chest compressions. “Then you’ll need to give her air.” 

Winry bent down over Pinako, inhaling deeply as Sergeant Michelson counted out his compressions. She blew into her grandmother’s mouth, wondering if the tears she tasted were her own, or Granny’s. 

X X X

Alphonse woke with a snort, blinking a few times. The smell inside the room struck him first, antiseptics and soap and, underneath it all, a hint of death. He licked his dry lips, his fingers fumbling along until he found the reason for the bite of pain in his elbow. Taped in place, an I.V. needle transported liquids from a bag hanging from a pole. He remembered when he’d arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses congregating around him like a flock of buzzards. He’d heard whispers about how lucky he was to even be alive. He wondered if they had any idea that they were the lucky ones. Their souls had been returned to them; they’d survived the Promised Day. Alphonse didn’t have any idea what Father had planned on doing with his chosen sacrifices after he’d created his Philosopher’s Stone and captured the Truth. Whatever it had been, Alphonse was pretty sure the chosen sacrifices would have been allowed to live, if only to prove how useless they were. Father might have eventually even ground them down into the next batch of Sins to help him take over the world. 

“So, you’re awake,” a raspy voice greeted him. 

Alphonse gasped, reveling at the sensation. “Brother!”

Swathed in bandages, his brother lay in the next bed. Edward looked lopsided with his right arm missing, but a huge smile, not his usual scary one, wreathed his face. “Yeah. In the flesh. Just like you!” Somehow, his grin grew at the stupid joke. 

Alphonse blinked, feeling tears stinging his eyes. “You didn’t get your arm back.” 

Edward waved him off. “It’s okay. Winry needs something to bitch about; an arm and a leg isn’t a bad price to pay.” 

“What else did you have to pay to bring me home?” The question hung between them for a few seconds. Alphonse found he had time to marvel over the vision of his brother, not filtered through a red haze for the first time in literally years. “Ed?” 

“I’m fine, Al.” The smile faded somewhat, but Edward met his eyes, and wasn’t glaring, so Alphonse knew he wasn’t lying. “Truth said we paid enough.” 

“Really?” It didn’t seem like the Truth and its strange sense of propriety. “Why?” 

Edward shrugged; a peculiar sort of motion with only one arm to flap. “How the hell should I know how Truth thinks?” He turned on his side so he could meet Alphonse’s eyes more readily. “Let it go. We’re here, together. That’s what’s important. And soon,” his smile began warming again, “we’ll be going home.” 

“And we’ll see Winry and Granny’s smiles,” Alphonse agreed, and, despite how his arm trembled, he managed to reach across the gap between their beds to bump his fist into Edward’s. 

X X X

Winry wanted to scream at the woman on the other end of the line. “Edward Elric,” she repeated, again. “Major. Edward. Elric.” 

“I’m sorry, miss,” the woman interrupted. Again. “I’m afraid I cannot give out any information at this time.”

“I don’t care if you can’t give out any information!” Winry only just refrained from shrieking. “I need to get a message to him!” Reining her temper in, she asked, “Is he alive? Please.” Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. “Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. His little brother, Alphonse.” 

“I’m sorry, miss.” The voice on the other end didn’t sound apologetic at all. “I cannot take messages at this time.”

Fury seemed to tinge everything red. Winry opened her mouth to blast out a response when Sergeant Michelson plucked the receiver from her hand. “Good afternoon,” he said, holding up a finger to keep Winry quiet. “This is Sergeant Michelson. The code is,” and he rattled off a bunch of nonsense with a straight face. “The Fullmetal Alchemist is needed in Risembool for a family emergency. There has been a death – yes.” He frowned slightly. “Yes…I understand. Thank you for your time.” Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Michelson turned to Winry. “I’m sorry, Miss Rockbell. No one’s getting through to H.Q. right now, not even with the proper codes.” 

Winry wanted to pick up the receiver, no, the whole telephone kit, and throw it across the room. Instead, she nodded stiffly. “All right,” she said, “all right. Thank you for trying.” She’d hold the funeral alone, without the boys, because Granny and Den couldn’t wait any more. Turning away from Sergeant Michelson, she walked to the stairs, heading for her room. “You two better be alive,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Granny won’t forgive you for this if you aren’t.” 

X X X

A child, more the size of an embryo than a newborn, supped rich goat’s milk from an eye dropper. The older woman who fed it wiped its mouth and chin with a soft cloth before sucking up more warm milk in the dropper. They were in a small room, decorated in the ways of baby’s rooms everywhere, with soft colors and cute animals decorating various surfaces. 

The being who had been known Pride, or its alias, Selim Bradley, had controlled this body. Pride, though, had been beaten by a boy, a young man, an alchemist, who had cracked through the homunculus’s outer shell, had crawled into the ether inside the Philosopher’s Stone that made up Pride’s _self_. That boy had reduced the homunculus to nothing more than this embryonic creature, something barely in control of its bowels, much less its body. This child’s form housed the soul and mind of a man who had retained his personality and sense of self, beyond any other person whom Pride had swallowed up. 

Now, the man thought, _now_ was the time to act. 

Kimblee opened the eyes of his new, tiny body. He heard a delighted coo from the old woman, and smiled. Her delighted reaction turned to horror when his maw widened impossibly huge, larger even than the body itself. His tongue spun out of his mouth to loop around the woman like a lasso. She didn’t even have time to scream before his jaws chomped twice, breaking muscle and bone and _soul_ down to component parts. As that fuel spread through his miniscule form, Kimblee used it to stretch the body, making it conform to one he knew all too well – his own figure. 

Sitting up, Kimblee picked up the hand towel to wipe his mouth of the flecks of blood and splinters of bone. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned toward it, recognizing his own reflection. He was naked, but no scars remained of his previous adventures. Reformed, his skin retained a youthful elasticity, with no wrinkles to mar it. His hair hung loose and thick almost to his mid-back, no stray gray hairs to dull its appearance. Kimblee smiled at the mirror. “Welcome back.” 

Transmuting what was left of the bedding into suitable clothes took no time at all. Kimblee found a brush on the dresser and made use of it, a tie gathering up his hair into a ponytail. Sadly, he found nothing of wool or felt, to make himself a hat, but surely he’d locate something appropriate if he kept looking. Besides, it wasn’t often that a man was given a second chance at life. Kimblee planned on making the most of it. 

He nodded at his reflection, and made his way out of the house, using the back door. It wouldn’t do to announce his presence too early, after all, not until he’d found out what had happened while he’d been sleeping.

X X X 


	2. Chapter One:  Confusion

  
**Chapter One: Confusion**  
_Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new._  
**Cyndi Lauper, “Time After Time”**  


Major General Frank Archer peered out the window of the train car. The station seemed huge, monstrous, even, compared to the southern hub. Though he’d been to Central City in the past, never had he come to the capital in his current capacity. Gathering the file folders he’d been studying since even before he’d left South City, Archer slid them into a briefcase and latched it closed.

The door to his private cabin slid open, and he turned with a frown. “I’m coming, Captain Williams, I’m.” His words died as he spotted the man closing the door behind him. 

Archer didn’t recognize this tall, slender man, and, while he wore military blues, there were some incongruities to his uniform; specifically the long ponytail. “I am sorry, Major General,” he said, his smile definitely not meant to disarm nor to comfort. “But I could think of no other way to meet you.” He placed a long-fingered hand against his chest, offering a half-bow that seemed to want a hat to tip to make it perfect. “My name is Zolf J. Kimblee, also known as the Crimson Lotus Alchemist, and I’d like to talk to you about what happened here in Central City.” 

Running that name through his memory, Archer dredged up something about an alchemist who’d killed off a large amount of the Ishbalan command officers. Kimblee, the mad alchemist. Yes, he’d been imprisoned after Ishbal. How was it he was standing here, in Archer’s train car? And how dangerous was he? 

“I have meetings to attend, Major.” Archer got to his feet. “If you want to make an appointment to speak to me, I do have an adjutant who handles setting up those things.” He tried to brush past the other man. Kimblee caught his shoulder in a grip, that, with just a bit more pressure, would be tight enough to bruise. 

“No, Major General,” he said, and his smile turned dangerous, “you really need to hear what alchemists are capable of doing. Do you know why everyone went unconscious all at once, just a few days ago?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let me give you a hint.” Leaning in close, he whispered in Archer’s ear, “Alchemists.” 

Archer stiffened at the touch, but a cold chill ran down his spine at the idea that alchemists might’ve been going against the well-being of the people of Amestris. “How do you know this?” 

“I am an alchemist,” Kimblee reminded, releasing him with another of those smiles. This time, it seemed less malicious, and more pitying. “Even incarcerated, one hears things…and I was released from my imprisonment to take my part in what was to be the mass execution of Amestris to create a Philosopher’s Stone. I don’t know if you are aware of the Stone, Major General, but it grants extraordinary powers to an alchemist who knows how to make use of it.”

Licking his lips, Archer asked, “And the Fuhrer was aware of the alchemists’s attempt to create this Philosopher’s Stone?” 

“Furher King Bradley,” Kimblee said, exhaling slowly, “was in league with the wrong people. He believed he protected, when actually, he destroyed. His death made him a hero, and a hero he shall remain.” 

Archer realized that Kimblee hadn’t really answered his question, which might mean either Bradley had known what was going on, or Kimblee didn’t know the answer. “And what does this have to do with me, Major?”

“I’m glad you asked, Major General. I know you were sent here to take over command for the time being, until things are sorted out. As a dutiful member of the military, as well as a loyal Amestrian subject, I must point out to you, there are alchemists who are aware of what has happened, who took part in this travesty to destroy our country, and who are currently being lauded as heroes.” He leaned closer. “Who are actually enemies of Amestris, and some of them have been since the Ishbalan war.”

Archer studied the slender man in front of him. “Major Kimblee, walk with me. It seems we have much to discuss.” 

Kimblee nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up in a disturbing way. “Yes, sir, we do.” 

Whether the man was an ally or a foe remained to be seen, but for now, Archer wanted the information Kimblee could provide. Alchemists, as far as he was concerned, should all be collared and imprisoned until absolutely necessary for the good of the country. That an upstart from the middle of nowhere, Roy Mustang, had risen so quickly in the graces of the military from snapping his fingers and blowing people up still rankled to a man who could no more read a transmutation circle than he could ancient Drachman. But making use of an alchemist to capture others, well, Archer thought, Kimblee could prove an excellent stalking horse, if the bait was laid correctly. 

X X X

**_Excerpted report written for Major General Frank Archer, Southern Command, subsequent to the Central City Uprising, which took place in April, 1915:_ **

…The matter of the alchemists remains unresolved. Their participation in both the attack on Central City headquarters, and the Ishbalan conflict, has proven to the soldiers as well as the populace of Amestris, just how dangerous they can be…

The actual amount of deaths had been far fewer than believed, after the taking of Central City by the combined might of the soldiers of Briggs and Colonel Mustang’s command. Though neither command took complete credit for the attack on Central, neither took complete blame. The invading troops, comprised of both the aforementioned commands, as well as Ishbalans, had showed some reluctance in harming those protecting Central and the current regime. According to reports, no civilians were harmed, except for the extremely elderly, and some Ishbalans who had taken part in the invasion. All in all, for a coup, it was remarkably bloodless, excepting Furher Bradley’s death, which seemed to have been particularly violent, though there was no indication as to whom the Fuhrer had actually been fighting. 

Archer thought things would become a lot more bloody if he were to release the information he’d received from Kimblee. For now, though, he’d take small steps forward, and work to curtail the alchemists still loose in the city. 

X X X

The first hearing took place within two weeks of the Promised Day. Dr. Timothy Marcoh was tried in absentia, as he couldn’t be located. Edward Elric thought Marcoh had probably gone to wherever Scar had disappeared, though he couldn’t be sure. Scar hadn’t been located in the aftermath of the Promised Day, either, but Edward was pretty confident _he_ wasn’t dead. 

Alphonse sighed in his hospital bed and Edward turned his attention from the newspaper to his little brother. It still amazed him. Alphonse lived, no longer a soul affixed to a metal shell. Alphonse could eat and smile and touch and smell and – he was _whole_ , finally. 

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?” Edward folded the paper, dropping it onto the chair next to his thigh. 

“You’ve got that stupid smile on your face.” Alphonse rolled his eyes. “It’s kinda creepy, to see you looking at me that way.” 

Edward had to make himself scowl in reaction. “I can’t smile at you?”

“Not like you’re a dopey, love-sick idiot!” Picking at the sheet, Alphonse grinned slyly. “If you’re going to look at someone like that, shouldn’t it be Winry?”

Realizing his mouth flopped open, Edward snapped it closed. “Fine,” he grated out, “I just won’t look at you at all, if that’s what you want!” 

Alphonse’s grin broadened. “I’m just saying.” It sounded like a protest. Maybe. But not really. 

“You’re an ass.” Edward pointed his folded newspaper at Alphonse before slapping it onto the bed. 

“Me? I’m not the one who’s staring at his little brother like he’s going to eat him up.” Shuddering, Alphonse flipped his sheet. “Seriously, Ed. Cut it out.” 

“Fine!” Edward folded his arms, or tried to; the doctors had removed his automail arm when he’d come into the hospital. He’d been informed there was no hope for the prosthetic, and that he ought to get in touch with his mechanic sooner rather than later. While the idea had some merit, Edward really didn’t want to get into it again with Winry in a hospital. How many times would that make it? Three? Briggs counted, as far as he was concerned. That crazy Briggs doctor and the even crazier mechanic up there had to be dating or something, the way they worked hand-in-hand. 

Alphonse broke into his thoughts with a quiet, “Brother?”

“Yeah, Al?” Edward rose halfway out of his chair at Alphonse’s expression. “What’s wrong? Do I need to call a nurse?” 

“No, I mean, a nurse couldn’t help.” Alphonse took a deep breath, his brow furrowing. “Ed, you’ve been out there.” He waved a spindly hand toward the window. “What’s really going on?” 

He inhaled sharply, not really expecting that question. “Well.” Wishing Alphonse hadn’t asked it wouldn’t help matters, either. “I guess…people are scared.” Edward shifted his chair, making it squeak across the linoleum floor as he pulled it closer to the bed. “Remember when I told you what First Lieutenant Hawkeye said about Ishbal?” When Alphonse nodded, Edward went on, “She said there was always a chance that the soldiers who fought in Ishbal would be punished. I guess…people are scared and they want someone to blame.” 

“But that’s not fair!” Alphonse blurted, fisting the sheet in his hands. 

Edward agreed. “No, it’s not.” He hesitated. “I… _we_ …ought to be safe.” He hoped. If they were going after the soldiers who participated in the Ishbalan War, well, Alphonse and he were too young to have been involved. But if someone in the know _talked_ about the Promised Day, they might not be safe at all. 

Rounding on him, Alphonse said, “We didn’t have anything to do with Ishbal. We were _kids_.” 

“We helped stage a coup, Al.”

“We helped save Amestris – and so did Colonel Mustang!” 

“Yeah,” Edward nodded grimly, “but I’m not sure how much that’s gonna be taken into account.” 

Alphonse fell silent at that, his expression mirroring Edward’s. And there really wasn’t much to say that wouldn’t turn into a yelling match, and nurses rushing in, and Edward wasn’t in the mood to put everything into words. Instead, he reached over, taking Alphonse’s hand – spindly, weak, but still, _flesh and bone and muscle and rushing blood_ \- giving it a soft squeeze. 

X X X 

Edward picked up the telephone receiver at the phone bank in the hospital hallway, considering. The bakelite felt cool in his palm, and he studied it for a few seconds. _I should call her._ The idea seemed strange. How often had he even considered calling Winry? Once, really, and that was only after Bradley threatened her. And the last time he was in a Central City hospital, after that disastrous fight in Lab Five. 

He shifted in the seat, trying not to think about the last time he saw Winry; back in Risembool, while hiding out with Greelin, Heinkel, and Darius. It had been too chaotic for them to have much time alone together, at least, not beyond Winry checking over his automail. Edward thought maybe that had been for the best. If he’d had to take off his shirt, she would’ve seen the scar from him being impaled up in Briggs during his fight with Kimblee, and he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to talk about fighting right then. 

Closing his eyes, Edward leaned his head against the partition between the telephones. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about Briggs, either. On one hand, it had been horrible, and he’d nearly lost his life. He’d had to let Winry go with Scar, something he’d hated, even if it had been the only way to keep her safe. Alphonse and he had been separated. The sudden, surprising shock of realizing his body was failing, and the desperate thing he’d done because he had to survive. “I couldn’t let you cry,” he murmured, as if Winry could possibly hear him, “not over me, not over something so stupid as falling onto a piece of rebar.” 

On the other hand, some things that happened in Briggs had been real eye-openers. On the run from Kimblee and his goons, before they’d all wound up going in different directions, hiding out and nearly freezing, it hadn’t been the time or the place for what happened, but it sure as hell beat freezing to death. Wriggling on the hard chair, Edward tried to turn his mind on anything else, but kept remembering the way Winry had looked in that icy room, nearly naked, straddling his hips. 

They’d been hiding out in an empty upstairs apartment, Alphonse taking the living room, and Winry and he holed up in a bedroom. Without any heat, and no way to light a fire that wouldn’t attract someone’s attention, they’d spent the night burrowed into the bedding, almost literally. Winry’d actually done some research before coming to Briggs, more than he’d done, and found out that people stayed warmer skin to skin. And, despite Edward’s best intentions, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from touching Winry. Not that she’d minded. He couldn’t remember which of them had initiated the kiss, or what followed afterward. What Edward did remember was how he’d hoped Pinako Rockbell didn’t figure out what her granddaughter and he had done. Particularly not while he was hiding out under the old hag’s roof. She might’ve castrated him, and that was only if he was lucky. If Pinako had been feeling cruel, she’d have just _teased_ him, the way she did. Edward groaned, running his hand down his face. The old hag could’ve really gone on while the other guys were around, and made sure he’d never hear the end of it. It was a damned good thing Pinako didn’t know. 

Grimacing, Edward tried to put those thoughts out of his head, too. At least thinking about the old hag meant his stupid dick wasn’t going to react like it would if he’d kept thinking about Winry. Yeah, he knew he should call her, sooner rather than later. Looking at the coins laid out in a row on the counter, he groaned. It ought to be fucking easier than this to ring her up. 

“Oy, Boss.” 

Startled, Edward let out a yip. The receiver spun out of his hand, banging into the ledge before spilling off and crashing onto his knee. “Damn it, Breda!”

Breda cocked an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “You remember we’re in a hospital, right?” 

With a growl, Edward snatched up the dangling receiver, and slammed it into its cradle. “Yeah, I remember!” he snapped. “What are you doing, checking up on me?” 

Whatever humor had been in the older man’s expression faded. “The boss wants to see you,” he hesitated, and the corners of his mouth went down at the inadvertent choice of words. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, Breda added, “If you’re not busy.” 

An audible sigh escaped him, but Edward nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He followed Breda through the halls, ignoring the looks he got. The nurses were all so weird. They reminded him of Mei, a little bit, the way they stared and giggled behind cupped hands. He twitched his shoulders, thinking Winry would laugh about it. Hell, Al would, too. 

Breda pushed open the door to a double room, ushering Edward through. “Found him,” he announced, then stepped back out of the room. The door nearly hit Edward’s ass as it closed automatically. 

Skipping sideways, Edward swallowed a curse, especially since he heard a soft snicker. He glanced toward the bed, clenching his hands for a second, trying to get control of himself. The bastard still couldn’t see a damned thing, so how the hell did Mustang seem to know what’d just happened? “Well?” he snapped out. 

“You are just as charming as ever, Fullmetal,” Mustang said. He sat on his bed with his legs folded, tailor fashion. His eyes were still grey and pupil-less, and Edward didn’t look at them longer than he had to. Hawkeye sat in the chair nearest the window, and he thought briefly she looked a lot better than the last time he’d seen her. The color was back in her face, though her throat still looked raw from the surgery scars. 

She smiled at him warmly. “What he means, Edward, is thank you for coming.” 

“Did I have a choice?” Edward grabbed the other chair, dropping into it noisily. “Colonel Bastard’s still my boss.” 

“That’s part of what I wanted to see,” absolutely no irony in Mustang’s voice, and Edward gave him some mental points for it, “you about.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. “You are aware of the unpleasantness happening within the military ranks?” 

Biting back a snide retort that would just hide what he was actually feeling, Edward sighed, running his hand over his bangs. “Yeah. I read about Marcoh’s trials in the paper today.” 

“Then you know that this is serious, Edward.” Mustang turned his sightless eyes directly on him, making Edward want to squirm. “All of those who participated in Ishbal are targets, which means that I will be tried eventually.” 

“You were just obeying orders,” Edward growled, his hand fisting tightly. 

“We knew this might happen,” Hawkeye reminded him in her low voice.

“But it’s not.” Biting his tongue, Edward kept himself from saying ‘fair’ out loud. First Lieutenant Hawkeye had told him that before, when he’d returned her gun. “Damn it!” 

“Edward.” The sound of Mustang saying his name cut through his anger, though Edward realized the colonel had spoken a few times. “I have your discharge paperwork. It needs two witnesses. Hawkeye can be one, Breda the other.”

“What are you saying?” Edward almost didn’t recognize his own voice, strangled as it was. 

“I believe you’re intelligent enough that I do not need to answer your question, Fullmetal, but I will.” He inhaled through his nose. “At this point, it is dangerous to be a State Alchemist in Central City.” 

Shaking his head, Edward said, “Al can’t leave the hospital. He’s not…not ready yet. He needs time to heal. He can barely feed himself, much less walk!” 

“Which is why I’ve made arrangements with a mutual friend of ours to take care of your brother.” 

Edward bridled. “What friend?” 

“Edward, lower your voice,” Hawkeye admonished. 

He bared his teeth but didn’t say anything more, waiting to find out who this friend was. 

Mustang’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I know you are not interested in using a Philosopher’s Stone, Edward, but at this point, it may be your only chance to get your brother out of Central City.” 

Eyes widening at the realization which alchemist had a Stone, Edward wanted to argue, to protest, to say that it wouldn’t get that bad. That Alphonse would have time to heal and would walk out of the hospital under his own power; but the tension radiating from Mustang to Hawkeye and back again made him think differently. Taking a deep breath, Edward let it out slowly. “I’ll have to talk to Al,” he said, as if he had any choice otherwise. “I can’t make the decision for him.” 

“If you need help convincing him, let us know,” Hawkeye said. 

How was it she could still smile? Edward wanted to scream at her, maybe scream at everyone in the hospital, that this couldn’t happen. Alphonse had told him how Hawkeye’d threatened to suicide when she’d thought Lust had murdered Mustang. If the bastard was tried and put to death, Edward didn’t doubt Hawkeye would follow him. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? “Thanks,” he got out as Hawkeye opened a folder and beckoned him closer. Scanning it, he realized his discharge papers had already been signed by Lieutenant General Grumman. He didn’t want to ask how, since Grumman hadn’t woken up from losing his soul during the Promised Day. “I shouldn’t.” 

“You joined the military because I coerced you into it,” Roy said, startling Edward into looking over his shoulder at the man. “You were a confused child,” he ignored Edward’s growl of disgust, “and your reason for joining was to find a way to restore your bodies. You have your brother back, Fullmetal. It’s time for you to get out of the military, now, while you still have that chance.” That it was too late for him and Hawkeye remained unspoken. 

“There are still things,” Edward began.

Mustang cut him off with a chopping motion of his hand. “There is nothing you can do about it, Edward. You don’t have enough clout to stop any of this.” 

Gritting his teeth, Edward picked up the folder. “Can I look at this and think it over?”

Hawkeye and Mustang seemed to exchange a look, despite the colonel’s blindness. “Don’t think too long on it, Edward.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Closing up the folder, he tucked it under his arm. “And I’ll talk to Al about the other.” 

Hawkeye cleared her throat, wincing, her fingers stroking the scar on her neck. “Don’t take too long, Edward. You know there are people waiting for you.” 

Mouth tightening, Edward grunted, wishing she hadn’t brought that up. Nearly everyone else had come out of the Promised Day okay, right? The same ought to hold true for Winry and the old hag. Squelching that worry and slamming it down in the same place he’d hidden his concerns and fears about Alphonse’s body, Edward managed a tight grin. “Yeah.” He wished he could tell Hawkeye the same thing. Did she even have any family, or was she like Alphonse, Winry, and him? He really didn’t know anything about either Hawkeye’s or Mustang’s lives outside of…this. “But you can’t give up. Al and I didn’t!” 

Mustang tilted his head. “No, neither of you did. You should be commended for that.” 

“So that means you can’t give up!” Edward pointed a trembling finger at Mustang, clamping the folder tighter under his arm. “You wanted to do what’s right for this country, didn’t you? Rolling over and letting them shoot you like a dog isn’t going to do it.” 

His grim smile startled Edward. “You are correct, Fullmetal, but this country also needs to heal.” When he tried to interrupt Mustang, he said, “I believe that is all I want to say on the subject at the moment. Go take care of your brother. Call your mechanic and let her know you survived. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear from you.” 

Inwardly, Edward squirmed. “I’ll get on it.”

“You should,” Mustang said, his expression softening. “Now that you’ve accomplished your goals, Edward, you need to take some time for yourself.” 

He heard what Mustang wasn’t saying out loud. “I’ll talk to Al.” Edward flapped the folder against his side, wondering what he should say. If there was anything he could do to change their minds. Hawkeye smiled at him, the particular curve of her mouth reminding him, inexplicably, of Mom. “Yeah.” Spinning on his heel, he shoved his way out of the room, breathing as hard as if he’d run up ten flights of stairs. 

X X X


	3. Chapter Two:  Emptier Than Zero

  
**Chapter Two: Emptier Than Zero**   
_When you’re gone,_   
_I never land_   
_In Neverland_   
**Marillion, “Neverland”**   


The rattle of the dirt hitting the top of the wooden coffin startled Winry out of her daze. Her hands ached from clenching her fists so tight, and her blunt nails cut into her palms. A breeze stirred the ends of her hair. The scent of flowers people had brought to the gravesite warred with the familiar, underlying stink of sheep. A rough blanket of grey clouds swept in from the north, and lightning flickered amongst them. In the distance, Winry could see sheets of rain, and knew that later today, the storm would move into Risembool.

Pinako’s mourners numbered almost all of the local countryside; old and young came to her funeral. And a few out-of-towners, too – Paninya and Mr. Garfiel had come from Rush Valley. Without Mr. Garfiel’s familiar, sweet-smelling bulk beside her, Winry thought she might have collapsed days ago. Both he and Paninya had showed up after she’d called his shop, partially to explain where she’d been for the past many months, partially to check on them, and make sure they were okay, too. Paninya had bad news – Mr. Dominic hadn’t woken from the Promised Day, either, and Winry’s heart had sunk even farther, that another great mechanic was gone. 

Winry couldn’t remember if she’d invited Mr. Garfiel and Paninya, or whether Mr. Garfiel told her he was coming. She wasn’t sure she remembered very much from the point of the time she’d realized her grandmother wasn’t going to wake up. Oh, the calls to Central City, she remembered those, but only as additional stabs of pain. 

After the ceremony, people came up to Winry, some offering hugs or handshakes, others giving her sad looks. She heard whispers that maybe they didn’t want her to hear, or maybe they did, that the brothers should’ve been here. She couldn’t tell them how much she agreed. 

“Thank you for coming,” she repeated, “there’s food back at the house, if you want to join us.” There was food, and more food – sawhorse tables had to be made for all the food people had brought in honor of Pinako Rockbell. 

Finally, the cemetery was empty of spectators, except for Mr. Garfiel, Paninya and her. “Honey,” Mr. Garfiel said, laying a broad hand delicately on her shoulder, “Paninya and I are going back to the house to make sure everything’s all right there. You want to stay here a little while?”

“Yes, sir. But I’ll come home soon.” 

“All right,” Mr. Garfiel said, squeezing her shoulder, “don’t stay away too long.” 

Stepping up to her, Paninya patted her on the back awkwardly. “I’m sorry.” 

Winry gave her a weak smile, but didn’t watch as her friends left. She walked slowly around the grave. Mr. Carter said he’d have the headstone installed within a week. Right now, her grandmother’s final resting place was marked by a mound of earth covered over with flowers – some lilies, some roses, some daisies, some tulips. Spring flowers, pulled or cut from everyone’s yards or along the paths through the countryside. There were even some sprigs of lilac, the lavender standing out in all the white and red and pink. Winry touched the petal of one of the roses, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. The velvety texture made her think of Granny’s hands – they were always so hard, but she made sure to put lotion on them every day, so her skin remained soft. 

The ground came up to meet her knees. Winry caught herself on her hands, her forehead nearly touching the mound of flowers. Bile flooded her mouth and she turned her head to spit it out, narrowly missing a pair of brown shoes. With a little shriek, she dodged sideways, twisting her neck to look up, and up. 

“Winry, are you all right?” Mr. Hohenheim asked as she sat back on her heels, staring at him in disbelief. “Here.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, offering it as he squatted next to her. 

“Thank you, sir,” she replied automatically, but couldn’t tear her gaze off his face. It looked strange, like it was melting, or maybe parts of it were sliding off, reminding her of blocks of sandstone falling away from a cliff. 

Rearranging one of the flowers on the mound, Mr. Hohenheim said, “I’m sorry I missed the funeral. Your grandmother was always my friend.” 

“You were hers, too.” Wiping her face, Winry folded the handkerchief, offering it back, but Mr. Hohenheim waved it off. 

“You’ll get more use of it than I will at this point, dear.” He smiled crookedly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I wish I could’ve brought the boys with me. I know they’ll be sorry they weren’t here for you.” 

“They’re alive?” Her heart crashed against her ribs, as if to break out of the bones caging it, and fly free to wherever Edward and Alphonse were. 

Mr. Hohenheim blinked at her. “Didn’t Ed call? Al has his body back. He’s terribly thin, though; weak, too. And Ed’s arm was destroyed; he’ll need a new one.” Shaking his head, he said, “Foolish boys, not calling…I’m afraid I’ve been a terrible influence.” 

Not sure if she’d laugh or cry over that, or the news that the brothers were alive, Winry covered her mouth with her laced fingers. “They’re alive,” she repeated, tears stinging her eyes. 

“Yes, in Central City. I’m afraid I left them again.” He tilted his head to look at her over the rims of his glasses. “I was not a good father to them, Winry. I know that. I did what I thought was best – leaving them alone with their mother to try to stop everything that happened.” His hands swept around, a jerky, aborted gesture, as if it was his fault the Promised Day occurred. “What good in them came from Trisha, and from your grandmother’s teachings, I’m sure of it.” Patting her shoulder lightly, as if he thought any more pressure might make her fly apart, Mr. Hohenheim said, “Things are still bad here in Amestris, Winry. Go to Central City. Go now, get my boys, and make sure they’re safe. They wouldn’t listen to me. Well, Al might, but Ed.” He shrugged. “And I’m dying now. I won’t be of any more help to anyone.” 

As he spoke, more bits of his face flaked away. Winry had to turn her head, to keep from staring. “I…have to take care of Granny…the shop.” 

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “There isn’t much time, Winry.” His free hand dug in his pocket, and, withdrawing a wallet, he thrust it at her. “Go. Go now to Central City, and keep my sons safe.” 

“Mr. Hohenheim…” 

“Don’t argue with me, Winry. I’m a dying man – dying men always get their last wish, don’t they?” How could he smile so charmingly while saying such things? “My wish is for you to be with my boys, and convince them to leave Amestris.” 

“But this is our home.” Winry clutched the handkerchief and the wallet together, squeezing the worn leather of the wallet tight. 

“What is going to happen here…what I can see happening, Winry, will not make it safe for my sons, and, subsequently, you.” His eyes, so much like Edward’s in coloring, though nothing like them in expressiveness, met hers. “Go to Central. Please.” 

Winry shivered, feeling the chill blowing in from the approaching storm. “Ed and Al changed the world once. What makes you think they won’t be able to do it again?”

A little more of Mr. Hohenheim’s face sanded away. “Because, last time, they were fighting monsters. This time, they’re fighting humans, and whatever Ed may be, he is no killer, no matter what threats he makes.” 

She knew Mr. Hohenheim spoke the truth – Edward wouldn’t have been able to kill Scar, despite what he’d said. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she whispered, “But everything’s here.” 

Mr. Hohenheim gave her shoulder a shake. “What matters more, Winry? A bunch of possessions, or Al and Ed?”

Watching his skin slough off, leaving a hole next to his cheekbone, Winry had to turn away for a second. She didn’t want him to see horror in her eyes. “Ed and Al.” 

“Then take that money and go.” A smile made a creepy caricature of Mr. Hohenheim’s face. “Oh, and before I forget, give this to Al.” Digging into his pocket again, he pulled out a vial. Inside the tiny jar, a viscous, glowing red liquid rolled about inside, reminding Winry of mercury in the way it moved. “Tell him…tell him it’s mine, to give. And tell him to use it wisely. And this, this is for Ed.” He passed her a small box, banded with a tight string. “He probably won’t accept it. Keep hold of it until he does.” Mr. Hohenheim’s smile grew fonder. “I wish I could see what your children will look like, Winry.” 

“Children?” she squeaked.

Mr. Hohenheim ignored her outburst. “Take the boys to Liore. Someone will be waiting there for you three. And give my sons my love.” The warm light in his eyes started to fade. “Go, dear. You don’t want to see me…” His hand fell away from her shoulder and he slumped sideways, a soft, final breath that sounded like, “Trisha,” escaping him. 

Winry found she could still cry, and buried her face in her hands to muffle the sobs. Her tears soaked the handkerchief and the wallet before she could push herself to her feet, and make her way back home. 

X X X

The south-facing window let a diffuse light into the hospital room. Any brighter, and Alphonse might not have been able to stand it. Edward still wanted to take his brother out into the courtyard to experience the sun for real, but the doctors seemed to think Alphonse was made of glass. If they had time, Edward thought maybe he would, too, but the urgency he’d felt from the bastard and Hawkeye made him believe a long convalescence was not in the offing. 

Alphonse tugged lightly at a strand of his long hair. “I don’t want to use the Stone.” 

“Yeah.” Edward tapped his fingers on the metal bed rail. He thought of all those souls who’d been trapped to fuel Envy’s body, and trembled. That memory was still too close for comfort. Even knowing Envy committed suicide, unrepentant, destroying its stone as it went, didn’t change what he’d seen in that creature’s body. 

“And they’re hunting…I mean…Dr. Marcoh’s trial.” 

Edward wondered just how Alphonse had found out about the trial. He certainly hadn’t shared that information. He’d made sure to take his newspapers with him, not wanting to upset his little brother. Had someone else, when he’d left Alphonse? Ross and Brosch had been by to visit; Breda, too, and Brosch had a way of just blurting stuff out, without thinking of consequences. Damn it! 

“Ed, are you even listening?” 

“Yeah!” Turning his attention back to Alphonse, Edward nodded sharply. “I know what you mean.” How would Dr. Marcoh even enter the hospital if they – if Alphonse – agreed to this? 

Alphonse spread his hands. “I don’t want him in trouble because he was trying to help me.” 

Keeping to himself that people had been in trouble for helping them in the past – hell, look at Hughes – Edward grunted his acknowledgement. “I don’t know, Al. The bastard said he could arrange it.” 

He was too easy to read. After being metal for so long, Alphonse no longer had a poker face. He couldn’t control his emotions; sorrow and joy both ran rampant whenever Alphonse felt them. Now, sadness and fear clashed on his face, as well as concern. “Mr. Heinkel made me use the stone to fight Kimblee and Pride. I didn’t want to, but.” He nibbled his lower lip. “He said I needed to protect Amestris.” 

And this was a totally different situation. Edward folded his arm across his chest, still feeling lopsided without his automail. Damn it, he needed to contact Winry, but he wanted to call her with good news. That everything was going to work out, and Al and he would be coming home to her. “It’s your decision, Al,” he said finally. “And I know what we said.” 

Alphonse nodded, his hair swinging down into his face at the movement. Wrinkling his nose, he whined, “Ed, can you get a barber in here for me? I can’t stand this hair any more! How do you deal with it?” 

The complaint made Edward blink a couple of times before a stupid smile stretched his mouth. “Tch! You just don’t want to be mistaken for me,” he hooked his thumb at his chest for emphasis, “any more!” 

“Ugh, like I’d want anyone to think I’m you,” Alphonse groaned. “You’re the shorter brother with the worse temper!” 

Gnashing his teeth, Edward growled, “Am not!” 

“Oh, please.” Alphonse rolled his eyes, still too large in his sunken face. “You have a reputation. I don’t!” 

Edward snorted. “You do, too. You’re the nice one.” He spat out the last two syllables in a prissy tone, sounding like Winry’s boss, Mr. Garfiel. “Who wants to be that?” 

Not quite as sly as maybe he’d like, Alphonse said, “Winry, probably.”

A direct hit. Edward flinched, narrowing his eyes. “Leave her out of it.” 

“You still haven’t called her, have you? She’d want to know we’re okay!” Alphonse goaded. 

“Nng, I will, I will! I just want.” He hesitated. 

“You want what?” 

“Better news.” 

Alphonse cocked his head, curious. “What’s better news than us being alive, Ed?”

He seriously wished he had an answer to that. 

X X X 

The office had become Archer’s home away from home. While he didn’t use the Fuhrer’s office, he’d taken over one of the larger ones on the same floor. The walls were painted stark white, with a banner of the Amestrian leocampus blazoned on it. A book shelf took up the space of the entire western wall, except for a doorway. Curtained windows covered the exterior, eastern-facing wall. He’d installed his desk under the banner, on the northern, interior wall, and the southern wall was set up as a work area for his adjutant and any others considered necessary. 

Currently, Archer and Kimblee were the only ones within the office. Archer sat at his desk, studying the alchemist seated across from him. Kimblee had the appearance of a block of ice. Dressed all in white instead of a military uniform, his eyes held a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his mouth. He templed his fingers, meeting Archer’s gaze over them. 

“I suppose you have something to discuss, Major?” 

“Oh, yes,” Kimblee all but purred, getting to his feet. He prowled slowly around the corner of Archer’s desk. “You’ve gone after the one who can’t be found,” he said, “now you need to go after the others.” 

“There aren’t that many State Alchemists left,” Archer said, trying not to react to the proximity of the alchemist. He’d read up on Kimblee’s files, what little that hadn’t been redacted, and thought the man was probably just shy of being insane. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be used, but Archer had the sneaking suspicion that Kimblee felt the same way about him. “You know why.” A scarred Ishbalan had been systematically murdering State Alchemists over the past few years. Kimblee had tangled with the scarred Ishbalan, and, according to the medical records, had healed rapidly, far faster than his doctors could understand. 

“I do know. Scar, fortunately, failed to eradicate me.” Kimblee nodded slowly. “Which leaves three State Alchemists here in Central City – Flame, Fullmetal, and Strongarm.” 

Strongarm, Archer knew, had been sent away from Ishbal in disgrace for having a breakdown on the field of war. Major Alex Louis Armstrong remained in the military, but was considered a liability. He’d always wondered why Armstrong hadn’t been dishonorably discharged, but figured his family’s standing might have had something to do with it. “And you,” Archer reminded Kimblee. 

Kimblee smirked and took his seat again. “But I have knowledge you find necessary,” he said. 

Archer mentally agreed, but didn’t react to the statement. Kimblee was necessary for the moment. He knew more about other alchemists than would be found in any of the files. Archer’d taken the time to read the records of how many were killed only a few years ago – the Silver Alchemist, the Sewing Life Alchemist, and the Iron-Blood Alchemist all had died at the hands of a renegade Ishbalan known only as ‘Scar’. The Freezing Alchemist died, as well, but not at the hands of Scar, as far as the records went. The Crystal Alchemist, Timothy Marcoh, had disappeared after the Ishbalan War, though rumors abounded that he had been in Central City during the time of the April Uprising. 

“There are two in the military hospital,” Kimblee said, soft as a breath. “Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, and Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Elric had nothing to do with Ishbal,” Archer said. He’d reviewed Fullmetal’s file, as well. 

“He had everything to do with the uprising, though.” Kimblee had the air of a teacher with a particularly slow student. “He turned traitor during the winter prior; going AWOL.” 

Archer turned in his chair, hating that he had to look up at the dark-haired man. “How do you know that?” 

Kimblee smiled his creepy smile. “He was supposed to be under my command. Instead, he attacked me, with the intent to maim.” 

“Maim?”

“Fullmetal is an anomaly, Major General. He is a soldier who sincerely wants to help people – and he refuses to kill, no matter what.” 

“Why would that make him so dangerous?” Archer wanted to know. He picked Fullmetal’s file, opening it again to look at the identification photograph. Major Edward Elric, the youngest State Alchemist ever inducted into the military. Orphaned at an early age with his younger brother, Alphonse, both had been hurt when the Risembool train station had been blown up during the Ishbalan war. While Elric’s methods were unorthodox, he seemed to get results, and the people, for the most part, admired him. 

“Because he was one of the main people fighting to take Fuhrer Bradley down,” Kimblee said. “He will not be one to stand aside and let cooler heads prevail.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Edward Elric will be a thorn in your side unless you pluck. Him. Out. Now.” 

“I would think Mustang would be the greater threat,” Archer said, raising his eyes from Elric’s file.

“Mustang will be easy,” Kimblee said, waving off that concern. “He believes in his own guilt, has magnified it in his head. He was always this way.” 

When had the man moved even closer? Archer watched him, hoping that he didn’t show any fear. Kimblee reminded him of a large, dangerous animal, one that would pounce if it found him too weak to survive. “So, in other words, an easy target.” 

“Oh, yes,” Kimblee said, “and once you have him, Fullmetal will follow. Their similarities are less apparent than their differences of opinion, but Edward Elric has a loyal streak, and Mustang will do anything to protect those under his command.”

Archer pushed back in his chair to get to his feet, tired of Kimblee looming over him. He slapped Fullmetal’s file against his palm as he strolled around the office. “The problem with Fullmetal is he has many civilian fans. I am not sure how they would react if he was taken prisoner. I don’t want to start a riot.” 

“Then we have to show the civilians just how dangerous alchemists can be,” Kimblee said. 

Looking at Kimblee, Archer thought maybe that wouldn’t be so difficult an idea. 

X X X


	4. Chapter Three:  Gossip

  
**Chapter Three: Dismal Day**   
_And though they walked along pretending not to care_   
_I knew behind my back they'd point and laugh and stare_   
**Bread, Dismal Day**   


Winry slipped into the back door of the house, having come back from the cemetery in the most round-about way possible. There were still too many people in the front yard, celebrating her grandmother’s life. She didn’t want to see them, not with everything Mr. Hohenheim had told her. Even so, as she crept into the kitchen, she froze, hearing voices.

“…happened, it’s the fault of alchemists. That one, the Hero of Ishbal, he started it all! Tried to overthrow Fuhrer Bradley!” 

Winry recognized Mrs. Culbertson’s voice. She and her husband ran the general store in town. Ducking down, she peered around the corner of the cabinet, spotting two women standing in the hallway, glasses in hand. 

Miss Weyerbacher, who worked with the Culbertsons, usually handling the mail, asked, “Do you think Ed and Al had anything to do with it?” 

“Those boys?” There was a pause, as Mrs. Culbertson rallied her thoughts. “I don’t know. They’ve been gone so long. Who knows what they’ve seen? What changes they’ve gone through? They were always good boys, well, little troublemakers, but what young boys aren’t at that age?” She tucked a strand of greying hair back into the bun at the back of her head. “They’re still friends with Winry,” she said, as if that made any bit of difference.

“But they didn’t come to the funeral,” Miss Weyerbacher pointed out. 

“No,” Mrs. Culbertson said, turning away from the kitchen and heading toward the front of the house, “and it’s a sad thing. Pinako raised those boys like they were her own, after their mother passed.” 

Whatever Miss Weyerbacher said in reply was swallowed up in the screeching sounds of the screen door opening and slamming closed. 

Winry let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. A spurt of rage shuddered through her, and she nearly followed the women outside to give them a piece of her mind. But Mr. Hohenheim’s urgency, and the sense of something being _wrong_ that had been haunting her since the day of the eclipse kept her inside. She slipped through the house, avoiding the squeaking boards, setting her foot on the riser of the staircase. 

“Winry!” She whirled around, spotting Paninya. “I was starting to get worried. Where did you come fro – oof!” Paninya tried to peel Winry’s hand from her mouth. 

“Hush!” Winry hissed in her ear. “I…come upstairs, but be quiet!” She hurried up to her room, Paninya following behind her. At any other time, Winry might’ve considered how lightly her friend moved, her automail legs not pounding on the risers like Edward’s would’ve. Ducking into her bedroom, Winry waited for Paninya to follow her inside before pushing the door to. “Be quiet,” she reminded, holding up a finger, and pointing at the bed. 

Paninya obediently folded herself onto the bed, lacing her fingers together and waiting expectantly. 

Grabbing a small suitcase out of the closet, Winry set it on the mattress next to Paninya. She turned to her dresser, pulling out some underwear, throwing it into the case. Next went some shirts and pants, as well as a dress. “I just had word from someone that something’s going on with the alchemists. They’re being blamed for everything that’s happened on the Promised Day. Ed and Al are alive, they’re in Central City, and I’ve got to go to them.”

“Now?” Paninya yipped, and hunched her shoulders at Winry’s glare. 

“Right now. I was told not to wait.” She snapped the case closed, thinking. “Ed’s arm was destroyed…I should take another one with me. And my toolkit.” 

“Winry, are you listening to yourself? Who told you all this? Why should you believe them?”

Grabbing her traveling toolkit, Winry considered Paninya’s questions. “Because Mr. Hohenheim may be a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. Now, are you going to help me or not?” 

“Help you? I’m going with you.” Paninya grinned. “Just let me get my bag, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

“No, you can’t.” Shaking her head hard enough that her hair flew around her face, Winry didn’t even want to think about that idea. “You’ll have to tell Mr. Garfiel why I’m going.” She didn’t really care what anyone else thought about it. 

“You’ll never get away.” Paninya patted her shoulder, more confident at planning an escape than offering comfort. “How good are you at climbing?”

“I’m not going out the window with a toolkit and a suitcase! Everyone in four counties will hear that!” 

“All right, all right.” Paninya held up her hands in apology.

“Besides, the arm’s downstairs.” Pinching her chin, Winry considered her options. “There are too many people around for me to just get out of here and not get stopped.”

A huge smile brightened Paninya’s face. “I can cause a distraction.” 

Winry cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “You were a thief. You had to be subtle before.” 

“Not now.” Paninya patted her knee. “How far away do you think that stand of trees is, out back? I think I can hit it with my mortar. It’s dry enough out there, I could start a fire, and with that storm brewing, it won’t get too far.” 

“It’s not right! What if you miscalculate? What if some of the embers get caught up in the wind and set someone else’s place on fire?” Winry shook her head. “You can’t do that.” 

“You’re the one who can’t tell everyone you’re leaving.” Paninya fixed her with a look. 

“I know.” She sighed, looking at the wallet, the vial and the box, all wrapped up in Mr. Hohenheim’s handkerchief, then shoved them deep into the pocket of her jacket. “I guess I’ll just sneak out back again. Maybe you can tell Mr. Garfiel to mail me that arm.” 

“Nuh, uh, I’m going with you.” Stubbornly, Paninya folded her arms and tilted her chin up. “Someone’s got to make sure you’re safe.” 

“I’ll be safe.” But Winry couldn’t be sure of it, not really. What if someone still wanted to make her a hostage to keep Edward under their thumb? “I will!” she added, when Paninya scowled at her. “It’s going to be.” She stopped, abruptly. She didn’t know it was going to be fine, no matter what Mr. Hohenheim said. But she needed to get to Edward and Alphonse. There was no waiting for them to come home to her, not this time. 

“Then I’ll just come along to make sure everything is fine.” Paninya grinned. “I’ll figure out something. You just be ready to leave.” 

Winry hummed her annoyance, thinking there really wasn’t any other way around it. “Don’t blow up anything.”

“No promises. But if I do, I won’t destroy it completely.” Paninya winked and ran out of the room, leaving Winry staring at the open door blankly for a few seconds. 

She shook herself hard. She couldn’t wait any longer. Slinging the toolkit over her shoulder, she grabbed her bag, heading downstairs quietly. 

No one seemed to be in the house, from all the noise filtering in from outside. Winry sneaked through the downstairs, a ghost in her own home, wincing at every small creak and moan. She wondered if she’d ever come back here now, or if her house would wind up like some of the others in the area, abandoned to wind and weather. Trying not to think about it, Winry hesitated, spotting something she couldn’t – wouldn’t – leave behind. 

The pictures on the wall were the history of her life, her parents’, and her grandmother’s. Pictures of the Elric boys as kids; a photo of Mr. Hohenheim and her grandmother, when Granny was so young. Her own mom and dad on their wedding day. Winry quickly released them from the pins holding them in place, sliding them into a small pocket inside her suitcase. The photo albums were too bulky to carry, she knew; though she mourned their loss. Maybe Mr. Garfiel would gather them up for her, and keep them safe until she could collect them again. But now, there wasn’t any time to be thinking of them, nor of Den, buried in the ground behind the house, nor the chickens that needed tending. 

A boom outside, like fireworks, or a bomb going off, made the windows rattle. Winry knew it had to be Paninya, and hoped her friend had made good on her word. She risked a glance out the window, seeing childhood friends and their parents, running toward something she couldn’t spy in the back of the house. Winry swallowed hard, and ran to grab a final item – a new arm for Edward, shoved haphazardly into a carrying case – before she rushed out the front. 

Mr. Garfiel held out his hands to her as she came down the steps. “Oh, girl, Paninya told me. Run. Run to those boys, and you take care.” 

“Photo albums,” Winry gasped. “Chickens.”

“I’ll take care of everything, dear. You go.” He gave her a quick hug, nearly smothering her with the scent of his perfume, before thrusting her back. “And let Paninya take one of those bags!”

Someone – Paninya - grabbed the automail case from Winry’s hand. “Come on,” she said, “what I did won’t keep them busy long.” And she took hold of Winry’s wrist and began hauling her along, their feet pounding on the packed earth driveway as they ran toward the road, the train station, and Edward and Alphonse.

X X X 

The sweet smell of soap tickled Alphonse’s nostrils, making him smile. Or maybe that was the warm water, sluicing through his hair. He sighed, softly, contentedly, at the sensations taking place on the top of his head. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Alphonse?” Nurse Harrigan’s smile warmed her voice as her fingers trailed through his hair. 

“Mmm.” He felt a faint twitch, down between his legs, and marveled at it. Involuntary movement meant he was healing, right? Realizing Nurse Harrigan was asking a question, he forced his attention back to her words, rather than her hands, running over his scalp. 

“And you want your hair cut afterward? But it’s such a lovely color.” She gently massaged the soap through the strands, working it down to his scalp with the pads of her fingers. 

“Too long. It’s getting in my eyes.” He opened them to peer at Nurse Harrigan, leaning over him, upside-down from being behind him. “You understand, right?”

She had short hair, after all; reddish-brown, with just a slight fringe of bangs, and the rest of her hair was clipped short, only about a half a finger’s length all over her head, tapering to even shorter at the nape of her neck and above her cheeks. It didn’t disguise how sweet her smile was. “If you want short hair, Al, I’ll be happy to help you out.” 

“Thanks.” Alphonse beamed up at her, wondering why she caught her breath. “Is something wrong?” He noticed the quick furrow of her brow and that she tried to hide it with another smile. 

“No, Al, everything’s fine. Now close your eyes, so I can rinse the soap out of your hair.” Picking up a pitcher, Nurse Harrigan poured the warm water over his forehead and scalp, gently squeezing the liquid and soap out as she worked. After she’d rinsed the soap from his hair, she wrapped the wet strands in a towel, and squeezed it a few times, “To get most of the water out,” she told him. 

A little while later, Nurse Harrigan had him sitting up in a chair, rather than on the bed, with a hospital gown wrapped around his shoulders. “That’s to keep the hair from getting down under your clothes,” she said, picking up a comb and a pair of scissors. “You want it all gone, right?”

“Mm! A cut like yours.” 

“I won’t be able to do that without clippers, but I’ll do what I can to make it short and neat.” She hesitated, giving him a wry grin. “Besides, you might not look too good with a woman’s hair cut.” 

Alphonse grinned back. “I’d take my chances.” 

Nurse Harrigan laughed, beginning to comb through the end strands of his hair. “You and you brother, you both have such amazing coloring.” 

“Dad’s the same way.” Alphonse suddenly realized he hadn’t seen their father since the ambulance had taken him away from Central Headquarters. Where had he gone? Was he still in Central City, or somewhere else? Would he ever see his Dad again? 

“Really? I’d bet he’s very handsome.” 

Alphonse wasn’t sure about that. Dad had a long face, and it was mostly hidden by that beard and moustache. Ling kind of had an attractive face, or maybe Colonel Mustang. “I guess,” he shrugged slightly. 

Nurse Harrigan combed his bangs, holding them straight out away from his face, and began trimming them. “I’m sure he is. It’s hard for kids to see how attractive their parents are.” 

“Mom was beautiful,” Alphonse said. 

Grinning, Nurse Harrigan combed another strand of hair out from his face and neatly scissored through it. “You and your brother are handsome young men. I’m sure your parents are very attractive.” 

Alphonse huffed. “I’m nothing but skin and bones! I’m not attractive.” 

“You will be,” Nurse Harrigan assured him, but he caught a hint of that weird melancholy again. “You’ll see. Girls will be flocking all around you, wanting to be your girlfriend.” 

Sighing, Alphonse allowed himself the quick fantasy of a girl, kissing his cheek, holding his hand between her warm fingers. “That’d be nice,” he said dreamily, and fell silent as Nurse Harrigan continued to work on shortening his hair. 

It was another fifteen minutes before she stepped away, ruffling his still-damp hair with her fingers. “There,” she said, “that’s as good as I can do with the tools I have available.” Nurse Harrigan snipped the scissors together in emphasis. “But that should hold you until you can get a real barber in here.” Setting the scissors down, she picked up a mirror, holding it out in front of Alphonse. “I hope it’s okay.” 

Alphonse couldn’t hold the mirror – who knew glass was so heavy? – so Nurse Harrigan helped him with it. He turned his head from side to side, admiring her handiwork. It wasn’t as neatly-trimmed as he’d like, but at least he had bangs now, not stringy locks hanging everywhere. “This is great, Nurse Harrigan! Thank you so much.” He beamed his delight at her. 

“You’re welcome, Al.” She smiled back, and carefully took the gown off of his shoulders, trying to keep as much of the hair from falling onto the floor as she could. “I’ll get a broom and sweep this up.”

The door opened, and Edward stepped through. “Don’t bother.” He waved at her, giving the floor a glance. “I’ll take care of it.” The corner of his mouth quirked down. “I see you went through with it, Al.”

“There only needs to be one long-haired Elric brother, Ed, and that’s you.” 

Edward snorted but turned to Nurse Harrigan. “Seriously, I’ll clean it up.” 

She looked him up and down. “With only one arm?” 

His teeth showed, not nearly a grin. “Yeah, I can do it, believe me.” 

“He can,” Alphonse said. 

“You ought to be back in bed,” Edward told him. 

“I like sitting up.” Alphonse locked his skeletal fingers around the arm rests of his chair. 

Edward rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, Al.” 

Nurse Harrigan ruffled Alphonse’s hair again, and he leaned into her caress. “You probably should get back into bed, Al.” 

Humming in pleasure at her touch, Alphonse was almost too relaxed to protest. “But I’ve been in my bed for ten days now. I want out of it for a little while, before I get bed sores.” He batted his eyes at her, wondering again at the sorrow in hers. 

“Well, just for a little while.” Pointing at Edward, Nurse Harrigan said, “When he gets tired, you can call someone and we’ll put him back to bed.” 

Edward waved her off, not really paying any attention to her. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed. “Tired, go to bed. Got it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are we done?”

“Ed,” Alphonse grumbled as Nurse Harrigan sniffed. 

“I suppose we are. I’ll make sure the janitor finds you a broom and dustpan, Major Elric,” she said with an awful hauteur. Gathering up the mirror and scissors, she swept out of the room, the door swinging behind her. 

“You were so rude!” Alphonse scolded.

“Uh huh.” 

Edward followed Nurse Harrigan to the door, peering out of it. 

“Ed?” When he didn’t even turn around, Alphonse cleared his throat. “Brother!”

“What?” Somewhat distracted, Edward pulled his head back through the door.

“Why does Nurse Harrigan look at me like she thinks I’m going to disappear any minute now?”

Letting out a long, slow breath of air, Edward came back into the room, wrapping his hand around the bed rail. “Because they think you’re terminal.” 

“What?” Alphonse gaped up at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why they keep wanting to run more tests.” Edward grumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They seem to think you’ve got a cancer, or something, and that’s why you’re so thin.” He mumbled, almost to himself, “Couldn’t tell them what really happened.” Abruptly, he shook himself all over, like Den when she got wet. One of his scary smiles split his face as he disappeared through the door, coming back through it a few seconds later with a wheelchair. “How do you feel about getting out of this room?”

Eyes feeling like they nearly swallowed his face from being so wide, all Alphonse could do was nod wordlessly. He let Edward help him from the chair and into the wheelchair, saying nothing as Edward draped him with a blanket that hid his body completely. Alphonse waited with bated breath as his brother peeked out into the hall again before grabbing the handles and pushing him through the door. “Where are we going?” 

“To pay a visit,” Edward told him mysteriously, using his belly as much as his hand to keep the wheelchair moving in a straight line. “I had to wait until they took you off that I.V. to move you around.” Alphonse could hear the distaste in Edward’s words. 

“We’re paying a visit, or someone’s paying a visit to us?” Alphonse craned his neck so he could look back. 

“You’ll see.” Edward grinned hugely, and Alphonse decided to let his brother push him wherever they were going, and find out when they got there. When Edward guided the chair into an elevator, and hit the button to take them to the fourth floor, Alphonse twisted his hands together. If they were going up in the elevator, it meant they were seeing someone in the hospital. 

He wasn’t all that surprised when Edward rolled him up to a door guarded by Second Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Brosch. “Back for a visit, huh, Boss?” Breda said, pushing the door open for them. 

“I thought Al might want to see the bastard. I’m just providing the transportation.” 

The door opened to a private room, with only one bed, though there were a few chairs scattered around the room, and more flowers here than Alphonse had seen since, well, ever. Colonel Mustang sat on the bed, his back perfectly straight. “I’m surprised you can push a chair in a straight line, Fullmetal,” he said in his droll voice. 

“Colonel!” Alphonse beamed, delighted to see him.

“Ah, Alphonse. I’m glad your brother brought you up to talk with me.” He turned a sightless gaze toward Alphonse, his face a quarter of the way past meeting his eyes. 

“You insisted,” Edward growled.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Alphonse said, wishing he could get up and go to the older man. “How are you feeling?”

“Aside from not being able to see anything, I am fine, and ready to leave the hospital.” His bandaged hands told another story, though. “How are you doing?” 

“I got my hair cut today.” 

Mustang’s mouth curled up slightly. “That’s the floral smell. I knew it couldn’t be your brother.” 

Edward tsked. “Hey, I’m clean.” 

“Brother, stop,” Alphonse chided him. “I got Nurse Harrigan to cut my hair. I think she did a good job. She said she really needed clippers to finish it off, though.” 

“I’m sure your hair is fine, Alphonse.” 

“Next you’re gonna be talking about hair pomades and the best shampoos.” Edward rolled his eyes as he dragged a chair over to the wheelchair. Turning a serious face to Alphonse, he said, “The bastard wants to talk to you about using the Philosopher’s Stone.” 

“Oh.” Alphonse dry-washed his hands absently. “I don’t know, sir.” 

Mustang folded his arms. “I understand your reasoning behind not wanting to be healed that way, Alphonse, but I am sure you know that the current opinion on alchemists is not to our benefit.” 

“I’ve read the papers, sir.” Hearing Edward grunt in annoyance, Alphonse tried to keep himself from reacting. Edward always thought he couldn’t handle things. “Do you really think it’s going to be that bad?” 

“Edward, can you please get those blue papers from the table there?” 

Edward snarled wordlessly, but got out of his chair with a great deal of noise. “What are these?” he asked, then, went completely still. Alphonse twisted in his wheelchair to try to figure out what’d silenced his brother. His face was fixed in a rictus of rage. “The hell?” 

“I’m sure you can read them.” Mustang hesitated, and added, “Hawkeye was forced to read them to me, though. In case you are too dumbfounded to actually look them over, they are the papers ordering me to appear in court regarding the atrocities in Ishbal, and my leading the coup on Central City H.Q.” Mustang said it like it was nothing, though Alphonse noticed the faint tremor in the colonel’s hands. “I have no doubt the death penalty will be given.”

“But that’s not fair!” 

Mustang’s mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly. “No, Alphonse, it isn’t, but it is the way of the world.” 

Alphonse clenched his hands into fists. “You can’t let them just kill you! You’re stronger than that – there has to be a better way!” 

“The people want someone to blame. Alchemists have always been scapegoats of the military, hated by those they serve with; hated by citizens for their power. I would rather take the bullet myself than allow others to be killed.” 

“But they’ve already tried and convicted Dr. Marcoh,” Alphonse argued. “That ought to be enough.” 

“They didn’t get an actual death,” Mustang said. “No blood was shed, therefore, no sin was assuaged.” 

“It’s still not right,” Edward broke in. 

“Right is a matter of opinion, and now, our opinions don’t matter. What does matter is that you boys remain safe.” 

Alphonse lifted his chin to meet those sightless grey eyes. “We’re not children, Colonel. This was our war, too.” 

Mustang barked out a sharp laugh. “Alphonse, there are things you know, and things you do not know. You two may’ve seen battle, but neither of you have seen a real war, and I hope you never will.” His eyes narrowed and drifted to the left. “You don’t know what it’s like, being ordered to kill, and not being able to choose to not murder people. It destroyed Alex Louis Armstrong’s career, as he could not understand why we were ordered to kill women and children, and he argued against it until he was sent back to Amestris in disgrace.” His expression cleared. “It is possible the death penalty will not be handed down to him.” 

“You were just following orders!” Edward snapped. “Like soldiers are supposed to do – if they want to blame someone, blame your superior officers during the war!” 

“Many of them are already in custody, Edward, from their attempts to turn this country into a Philosopher’s Stone. They will be tried in their own way, though probably not as publicly as my trial will be.” Mustang shifted his weight, making the mattress and the waterproof fabric under the sheet squeak. “I understand what they’re doing. Someone needs to be the scapegoat.”

“It doesn’t have to be you!” 

“Alphonse, it does. I may not be…agreeable to it, but I am resigned to it.” Mustang ran a hand over his hair, the frustration he had to feel evident in that gesture. 

“Maybe you are,” Edward said, “it doesn’t mean the fuck we are.” He jammed his thumb into his chest, then pointed at Mustang. “Since when are you into giving up, anyway?”

“Since I was promised a deal if I agreed to be made the scapegoat. My men will go free, without any blemishes on their records.”

“Sir, what makes you think they won’t try to follow you, anyway?” Alphonse asked. “First Lieutenant Hawkeye was ready to let Lust kill her when she thought you were dead.” 

“You don’t deserve her loyalty,” Edward sneered. 

“And have you bothered contacting your mechanic yet, Edward?” Mustang countered darkly. 

“That’s different!” Edward slashed his hand through the air. “She wouldn’t kill herself because I died! She’d – she’d keep walking forward, like she told me to do.” Agony choked his words for a few seconds, but he shook it off. “First Lieutenant Hawkeye cares about you, why, I have no idea, since you’re such a bastard. But if you just roll over and let them kill you, do you think she’ll try to live, or just follow you into the grave?” 

Mustang’s face went troubled for a few seconds, then smoothed out. “Arrangements have been made for those under my command. For everyone except for you, Edward, unless Alphonse,” his face tilted toward Alphonse, “agrees to being healed by the Philosopher’s Stone.” 

“What happens if I don’t, sir?” 

“I’m afraid you boys would be on your own. With both of you being alchemists, and Edward being under my command, there is a possibility those in charge would come after you.” 

“So, we go into hiding,” Edward spat out, “for how long? When would we be able to take back our lives?” 

“It is a possibility you might never regain your lives, Edward.” How he said it without a hint of apology, without squirming, Alphonse couldn’t imagine. How strong-willed was the colonel, anyway? “It has been a possibility since you signed up for the military. Everyone who joins the corps knows this.” 

“Not fucking like this – not living a lie!” 

“At least you will live, Edward, and that’s the important thing, isn’t it? You, and your brother, back in his body. It is far more important than a name, and what may or may not happen to me.” 

“Damn it, it is important, you bastard!” Edward lunged out of his chair, grabbing the front of Mustang’s hospital shirt and giving him a shake. “You can’t just bare your throat for them, you have to fight! Or what else is living good for? You can’t be so willing to give up, can you? If not for yourself, think about Hughes! He would’ve slugged you for this!” Letting go of Mustang, he shoved him back for good measure. Mustang rocked slightly, but remained upright, his face expressionless. “I can’t believe you,” Edward growled. 

“Concern yourself with Alphonse and your own lives, Edward, and let me be the judge of whether I’m giving up or not.” His eyebrow twitched. “Now, I am exhausted with having to listen to you. Please leave me.” 

“Gladly,” Edward growled. He grabbed hold of Alphonse’s chair, spinning it around so fast, Alphonse though his head would snap off his neck. “Let’s go, Al.” 

“Sir,” Alphonse said, grabbing for the tires, stopping the chair. He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, but I’m not sure I can accept the offer, after everything we’ve been through.” 

“As you wish, Alphonse,” Mustang said tiredly.

Alphonse released the tires. Edward shoved him out of Colonel Mustang’s room, grumbling all the way. 

X X X


	5. Chapter Four:  Circles in the Sky

  
**Chapter Four: Circles in the Sky**   
_In a window small and high_   
_A boy watches the sky_   
**The Bangles, “Circles in the Sky”**   


“Next stop, Central City,” the porter called, walking through the aisle between the seats on the train car.

Paninya sighed, stretching her arms out in front of her. “Hear that, Winry?”

Her friend grumbled, shoving her hair out of her eyes as she sat up. “Good thing. I think my butt’s broken.”

“Yours? Who traveled from Rush Valley to Risembool, then to Central City?” 

Winry gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. “It was your decision to come with me. You’re not going to make me feel bad about it.” 

Paninya shrugged. “It was worth a try.” 

The train slowed on the tracks, the bell ringing on the engine to announce their arrival loud enough to hear, even though they were five cars back from it. Paninya craned her neck as they entered Amestris’s capital city, shocked at the sight of the slums the train tracks wended through on the way to the station. Winry kept her eyes focused on the seat back across from her, rubbing a spot on the hem of her dress in a fixed manner. The whiff of an open sewer exploded through the open window, and Paninya made a face, thinking she’d never expected to smell something so horrible in Central City. 

Before she could really comment about it, though, the train slowed even more. The metal wheels squealed, rubbing against the tracks as the brakes caught and held. The bell rang repeatedly, and a station platform came into sight, then, just like that, bracketing both sides of the train car. Porters ran up to the cars, setting down wooden steps to help the passengers disembark. Cinders blew past, and steam suddenly clouded the air, then, just as abruptly, vanished as a steam whistle blew – announcing their actual arrival in Central City station. 

Passengers began gathering their carpet bags and other luggage, grabbing children by their hands, helping each other out of the bench seats and into the aisle. Paninya leaned down to grab the heavy case containing the automail arm, picking up her own small suitcase as well. Winry reached for her toolkit and her own case, taking a deep breath as she stood up. “Ready?” 

“Uh huh. Don’t let me get lost.” Paninya grinned sunnily at Winry’s exasperated sigh. 

“You’ll just have to keep up then, won’t you?” She stepped out into the aisle and led the way to the doorway and the train platform. 

Paninya stopped on the steps, her eyes going wide at the sight in front of her. “Wow,” she gasped, not sure where to look first. There were five tracks, with three trains sitting on them, and a round-about house just outside. There were people, so many people, and she couldn’t see anyone with visible automail, like back home. Their platform was at least three times wider than the general streets in Rush Valley. Engineers worked on the trains, oiling wheels, while stokers raked out spent ashes and loaded up fresh coals into the engine. Porters led passengers through the station like guides in some sort of ancient maze. Dazzled, Paninya hopped off the steps and onto the platform. She turned in a slow circle, feeling a huge smile stretching her face. If she was still a thief, she knew she could pick up so much money, just in this station alone. 

“Come on, Paninya,” Winry said, without impatience, or at least much. 

Nodding, she snapped her mouth closed. “I can look at all this some other time.” Paninya nudged Winry with her elbow. “Right now, we need to get you to your boyfriend!” She made a kissing sound, and Winry’s fair skin flushed pink. 

“I hate you,” Winry growled, pulling her toolkit more tightly up on her shoulder. 

Paninya giggled, skipping a couple of steps, her smile still in place as they made their way through the station. There were twelve steps taking them down to street level, and Winry waited while some men and women dressed in very expensive clothes haled taxi cabs. “We’re going in one of those?” Paninya asked, goggling. 

“Mm. But we won’t get anyone’s attention until they,” she nodded at the expensively dressed couples, “are out of the way.” 

“We’re seriously going in a taxi cab?” 

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “Yes, Paninya.” With the wealthy people out of the way, Winry took a step closer to the curb, sticking two fingers in her mouth and whistling sharply. 

A driver waved at her from inside the cab, and pulled up in front of them. He hopped out and opened the back door for them. “Would you like me to take your bags and put them in the boot?”

“No, thanks, we’ll keep them,” Winry said, climbing into the back seat, tossing her kit and her suitcase onto the floor. 

Paninya slid in next to her, bouncing on the seat, reaching for the crank to roll down the window. “This is amazing,” she announced as the driver settled in behind the steering wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. 

“It’s just a cab,” he said, grinning in the rearview mirror. 

“But I’ve never been in one!” Paninya twisted in the seat to look out the back window at the train station as they left it behind. 

“We need to go to the military hospital, sir,” Winry said. 

“Right, then.” He tugged his cap lower on his head and drove. 

Winry looked out the window as their driver – “Mike, that’s my name” – took them on what seemed like a long ride. “So, what do you think about what happened here in Central? I hear everyone across the country went unconscious, and no one’s really giving an explanation about it.” Mike smiled at them from the rear view mirror. 

“It was pretty scary,” Paninya admitted. “Almost everyone I know woke up.” Her face fell, thinking of Dominic and Winry’s grandmother. We all had headaches, though.” She glanced sidelong at Winry, but her friend didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed ahead. 

“Yeah, I had a headache, too. Worse than a hangover,” Mike laughed, but his expression went grim as he glanced at them in the rear view mirror. “So, I heard through the grape vine that alchemists had something to do with it, not to mention the attack on military H.Q.” 

Winry roused herself at that. “I don’t think anyone has the whole story,” she said. “People shouldn’t make any decisions until they know everything!”

“Yeah, but who’s going to tell us? Who do we believe?” Mike asked, turning his blue eyes to her. 

“Who do you trust more?” 

Paninya nodded slightly. Trust was important, and generally had to be earned. “I know who I trust.”

Mike eyed them both in the mirror, and his smile suddenly came back. “You two young ladies gave me something to think about.” 

Both he and Winry fell silent after that, leaving Paninya to her own devices. Twisting around in her seat, she tried to take in everything. There was so much to look at, from houses with gorgeous flowers to businesses, set up with huge glass windows to let everyone see what happened inside. She half-hung out the window at the sweet smell of bread baking, inhaling deeply, and slithering back inside to grab Winry’s arm. “This is amazing!” 

A tight smile was her answer. Paninya pouted, releasing Winry to turn back to the window. Outside the car, the scenery changed; houses and cute little businesses giving way to more imposing buildings. She spotted a bank, with columns carved out of marble out front and a tiny park next door to it. Heavy yew hedges flanked other buildings, and then the buildings grew taller. Finally, opposite a park with a gate adorned with Amestrian leocampuses, a sign on a tall white building read, ‘Central City Military Hospital’. Mike pulled the car into the parking lot, guiding it into an arched drive that stopped under an awning. 

Winry didn’t wait for Mike to open the door, popping it and hopping out. She reached back in to grab her suitcase and toolkit as Paninya opened the other door, pulling the automail case and her own bag out behind her. Winry paid Mike and turned toward the large double doors. Paninya waved at Mike as he drove off, then joined Winry. “You can do this.” 

“Yeah.” Winry squared her shoulders and started walking, shoving her way through the revolving door. 

Paninya trailed behind her, craning her head to try to take everything in. It looked like any other hospital she’d ever been in, just a lot bigger. And with a lot more soldiers than she’d ever seen before. Winry marched up to the reception desk, setting down her suitcase. “I’m Edward Elric’s mechanic. I need to see him, now.” 

The nurse behind the desk raised her head, looking at Winry over the rims of her glasses. “I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.” 

Her eyebrows arched up and Winry tapped a finger on the desktop. “He called me from here, and asked me to come. I took a train all the way from Risembool to install his arm. Now, if you want to tell Major Elric that his mechanic was sent away, and he’ll still be charged for my trip and my time, then that’s up to you. But if you know anything about alchemists, you’ll know that they want things done their way, and they want things to happen immediately, otherwise, they’d be regular people, just like you and me.” 

The nurse blinked once. Paninya noticed one of the soldiers batting the other with the back of his hand, and the pair of them starting for the nurse’s desk. 

“I need to see him,” Winry said. Paninya wished she could see her friend’s face, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the soldiers. “Right. Now.” 

The nurse reached for the telephone receiver, looking down at a list. She adjusted her glasses before dialing a set of four numbers, glancing up at Winry as she spoke to someone on the other end of the line. “Major Elric’s mechanic is here.” Her mouth tightened. “No, I wasn’t aware of this, either.” Winry folded her arms, waiting. Paninya swung the automail case around lightly, getting the heft of it in case she needed to throw it at the soldiers, still approaching, slow and steady. The nurse’s face soured more. “All right.” Without saying a farewell, she dropped the receiver into the cradle. “Someone will be coming for you,” she said. 

“Thank you.” Winry nodded at her. She picked up her kit and luggage and stepped aside to let the next person have access to the nurse. 

The soldiers glanced at each other, and retreated back to their place near the wall. Paninya grinned, and whispered in Winry’s ear, “I didn’t know you could be scary.” 

Winry smiled. “I don’t know why. You’ve seen how Ed and Al act around me.” 

The elevator chimed before Paninya could say anything more, and a dark-haired woman stepped out, dressed in Amestrian blue. “Miss Rockbell?” 

“Yes?” Winry turned, lighting up in recognition. “Miss Ross! It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, as well.” She smiled warmly, and Paninya revised her opinion of women in uniforms; maybe they did look kind of approachable. “If you and your assistant will come with me, I’ll take you to Major Elric.” She gestured for them to join her in the elevator car. 

Paninya wondered just how many more firsts she’d have today – a ride in a taxi cab and a ride in an elevator, which kind of jolted, and made her stomach lurch, and made her think she’d rather just climb stairs, or maybe run up the side of the building. The car lurched again when it stopped, and the doors opened, and Paninya swallowed hard before stepping out of it after Winry and Second Lieutenant Ross. The two of them were chatting like old friends, the way Winry always was with people. She seemed to make friends everywhere. 

Following behind, Paninya noticed another pair of soldiers, one standing at either end of the hallway. A cold tingling settled between her shoulders. What was going on in this building, anyway? Guards on every floor, taking note of who came and went? How was anyone supposed to heal with someone watching every move anyone made? She realized Winry’d gotten farther ahead and hurried to catch up. 

“Shut the fuck up, bastard!” she heard Edward shout, and Winry glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at Paninya. 

Second Lieutenant Ross shook her head. “He’s so loud.” 

“Probably going to get louder,” Paninya said, cheerfully, and Ross shot her a look. 

Winry stopped outside the door where the yelling could be heard, taking a deep breath, then pushed her way into the room.

Silence broke out as Paninya followed her into the sick room.

X X X 

Kimblee stood across the street from the hospital, near the entrance of a small park. It hadn’t been difficult to get the room numbers for Mustang and Elric’s little brother – it seemed Fullmetal himself had been discharged, but had yet to actually leave the hospital. 

The reports on his brother indicated Alphonse Elric was not long for this world. Kimblee wondered at that. By all accounts, Alphonse was emaciated, literally skin and bones, and believed to be terminal. How he’d gotten his body back was something to puzzle over. It would be a shame if he didn’t have a chance to question Alphonse, but Kimblee was under other orders. For now, he planned on following them. 

Turning his attention back to the hospital, Kimblee put the question of Alphonse Elric’s body out of his mind. Two soldiers patrolled near the entryway, and, from what Archer had let him know, more were stationed on the floors where the Elric brothers and Mustang were recuperating. It was too bad regular soldiers were no match for alchemists. Chimerӕ, at least, stood a chance, but Kimblee’s blunt questioning regarding the creatures he’d had in his employ in Briggs had almost made Major General Archer apoplectic. 

He shook his head at the memory. What did those southern soldiers get up to, anyway? From Archer’s reactions, he didn’t have a clue about the homunculi in general, and Bradley in particular. The south must live in its own little insular world, Kimblee decided, and was only needed to provide more souls for the Philosopher’s Stone. He couldn’t even think of any higher ranked officer in Bradley’s inner circle who might’ve been southern. 

No matter. Archer seemed amiable enough, at least for now. That’s all Kimblee needed. He could set up things for the Major General, show Flame and Fullmetal in their true lights, and set the citizens against them. The rumors about alchemists having initiated the occurrences during the eclipse were starting to gain hold – not to mention, acceptance. What else could have cause a simultaneous blackout of every citizen within the country’s borders? Kimblee smiled to himself. Mix a little truth with a lie, and it would always be more palatable. Who would actually believe the whole truth, that Bradley had been bred and created, raised up like a lab animal to become Fuhrer of Amestris? That the country was established just so another homunculus could create a Philosopher’s Stone to drag God down to its level? 

Considering what the Father homunculus might have done with a being like God didn’t distract Kimblee too much from his survey of the hospital. He noticed the taxi cab as it drove down the block, turning into the parking lot. A young woman climbed out of the back, brushing back long, blond hair. A smile tugged at Kimblee’s mouth at the sight of her. “Ah, Miss Rockbell.” He’d wondered if she’d survived the Promised Day, and here she was, paying the cab driver, then squaring her shoulders as she faced the hospital, as if it was her personal enemy. Kimblee admired her attire, the black on black making her hair and skin nearly glow. She was almost his direct opposite in coloring today, the sight tickling something deep inside of him. 

But why would Miss Rockbell be dressed all in black? He only came up with one answer: someone must have died, to have her and her companion clad in nothing but sable. Perhaps Miss Rockbell’s grandfather? Grandmother? Kimblee couldn’t remember which had taken her in after the death of her parents. He wondered if Miss Rockbell had ever realized why he’d been assigned to ‘check in’ at the Rockbell hospital? As it was, the scarred Ishbalan played the role Kimblee’s commanding officer had assigned to him. Kimblee shook his head slightly at the thought that Miss Rockbell had figured out his part in her parents’ death. While she seemed to be a mechanical genius, Miss Rockbell seemed incredibly naïve. 

That naivety left her vulnerable, of course, but it also brought out the protective streak in many people. The reaction of the Briggs soldiers when Miss Rockbell was kidnapped by the scar-faced Ishbalan showed the depths to which she could charm even virtual strangers. Kimblee understood their feelings, in a way – Miss Rockbell possessed certain attributes that always engendered particular reactions in the people around her. 

Miss Rockbell pushed through the revolving doors of the entryway, leaving Kimblee with the afterimage of her lovely figure printed on his memory. Kimblee wondered if Fullmetal, or some other young man – or even possibly the young woman accompanying Miss Rockbell – had tasted those assets yet. Somehow, Kimblee didn’t think the opportunity would ever come up where he would be able to find out for sure, but it entertained him, considering what her face might have looked like in the throes of ecstasy, and who might have given her that first orgasm.

Deciding perhaps a drink would assist his thoughts, and possibly cool them down, Kimblee headed into the park. He knew he’d heard a push cart jangle its way by him earlier, and thought to follow it to partake of its refreshments. And, while sitting on a bench in the shade, he’d consider what his next move should actually be.

X X X


	6. Chapter Five: Beating Black and Blue

  
**Chapter Five: Beating Black and Blue**  
_…you can’t say much about today,_  
Just that dark cloud coming back your way  
And that your dreams are all worn thin  
**Cyndi Lauper, “Set Your Heart Free”**  


Edward was starting to wish Second Lieutenant Ross hadn’t left Alphonse’s room. Maybe with her here, this conversation wouldn’t have fallen into a shit storm. He’d asked Mustang to come here to talk to Alphonse about the Philosopher’s Stone, again. Instead, Mustang was trying to convince them to leave Central. Again.

“There’s no way, bastard.” Not until this was settled. Not until Alphonse was well enough to walk out of the hospital on his own. Not until he knew the bastard and his men were safe. 

Mustang laced his fingers together, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “I need to know your answer, Fullmetal. I must know if you’re going to accept that discharge.” 

“The hell?” Edward snapped, leaping out of his chair, making it scrape across the linoleum floor. 

On his bed, Alphonse winced, hunching his shoulders. “Brother. Not so loud.”

He waved an apologetic hand at Alphonse, but didn’t turn his attention away from Mustang. “What I do with my life is not what I asked you here to talk about.”

Mustang narrowed his sightless eyes, somehow turning them unerringly at him. “This hospital isn’t safe for you any longer, Edward. Neither of you. And you know it. Archer is gunning for the State Alchemists. Just because you weren’t in Ishbal doesn’t mean he won’t come after you. You have a following, Edward, and the citizens, for the most part, adore you.” His eyebrows twitched. “No accounting for taste, I suppose.” Ignoring Edward’s snarl, Mustang went on. “That doesn’t mean their goodwill will keep you safe.” 

“I’m not worried about my safety, bastard.” Edward paced along the mint-green plastered wall. 

“Then worry about Alphonse’s.” Mustang pointed at him – well, close enough to be scary, at least. Even without Hawkeye’s direction, he could still pinpoint Edward. Probably the sound of his mismatched tread. Automail didn’t really sneak well. “These are dangerous times we’re living in, Edward.” 

He stopped pacing to sneer. “Don’t you mean ‘dying in’?”

“Call it what you will.” Mustang didn’t rise to the bait. “I’d rather you retain your life.” He turned in Alphonse’s direction. “Both of you. Or would you prefer leaving your brother alone?”

“Shut the fuck up, bastard!” Edward punched the wall to keep from hitting Mustang, grinding his jaw when the pain exploded in his knuckles and down to his wrist. Hospital plaster sucked. 

The door opened with a squeal, and Edward turned, expecting to see Hawkeye, with the way she always appeared when Mustang was in danger of getting his face punched off. Instead, he saw a blonde he hadn’t been expecting, with Ross right behind her. Jaw dropping, he squeaked out, “Winry?” 

“Winry!” Alphonse breathed out, but Edward didn’t dare glance at his brother, not with the threat of a pissed-off mechanic entering the room. 

“Edward,” she rapped out, her eyes narrowing. “Why haven’t you called me to tell me you needed a new arm?” 

“I – I – I,” Edward stuttered. 

“I think I should leave now,” Mustang said, smirking and getting to his feet. “Second Lieutenant Ross, would you please escort me back to my room?” He reached out his hand to her.

“Gladly, sir,” Ross said, and she caught Mustang’s hand, putting it into the crook of her arm to lead him out of the room. 

Edward hated that they scooted out with huge smiles on their faces, leaving him to his fate. Fuck. “How the hell did you even get here?” 

“And with Paninya?” Alphonse wanted to know as she came through the door, smiling at them both and waving. 

Winry looked away from Edward then, tell-tale drops running down her cheeks. “Al.” She dropped her suitcase and her toolkit with a clatter, leaping across the room to wrap her arms around him. “Oh, Alphonse.” He hugged her back with those damned spindly arms, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. “I’m so happy to see you,” she sobbed, “to see the real you, Al.” 

“I’m glad to see you, too, Winry.” Alphonse pulled back a little bit to wipe his eyes. Edward had to turn his head and clear his throat. “Don’t cry,” Alphonse said, touching Winry’s cheek. “Please.” 

She laughed brokenly, catching his hand and squeezing it. “Happy tears are okay, remember?” 

Swallowing hard, Edward grumbled, “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Winry. With that little thief.” He jerked his chin at Paninya, narrowing his eyes at her. 

Paninya paid him no attention. Setting a pair of suitcases on the floor, she hopped into the bed with Alphonse. “Al! My goodness, you’re so cute!” She slung her arm over his shoulders, giving him a cuddle as Winry slid off the bed, facing Edward. “We have to fatten you up, but still!” 

“The nurses are trying,” Alphonse assured her, snuggling closer. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in Risembool, and when I found out Winry was coming to see you, I had to tag along. I’ve never seen Central!” 

“Really? Why were you in Risembool?” Alphonse asked. 

“Well,” Paninya sighed. “That’s really Winry’s story to tell.”

Edward ignored Paninya and Alphonse, focusing on Winry. “Why are you here?”

She took a deep breath, and Edward wished he hadn’t looked so closely at her. Dark circles ringed her reddened eyes. “Ed,” she brushed a hand over her face. “Maybe we should…” She tilted her head toward the door. 

“Don’t worry about us, we can take care of ourselves, right, Al?” Paninya asked. 

He leaned into her, asking in a mock-whisper, “Does that mean we’re gonna let Winry yell at Ed without us watching?” 

“It depends.” Paninya shrugged without dislodging Alphonse. “I mean, if they go somewhere else, they can have some privacy so they can fight and make up.” 

“You know, they never actually make up,” Alphonse told her. 

Edward asked Winry through gritted teeth, “Would you like to step out into the hall?” 

Her mouth tightened and she nodded jerkily, walking out ahead of him. Edward couldn’t help but look at her ass, and the way the ends of her hair brushed against it, then he forced his eyes up. What the hell was she wearing, anyway? He couldn’t remember this much black in her clothes before. His gaze lingered at her waist and the flare of her hips, and he had to swallow again, for another reason entirely. 

As the door closed, Winry spun around to face him, and Edward yanked his gaze up to meet hers. Fine lines bracketed her down-turned, trembling mouth. This wasn’t all about Alphonse, nor him, it couldn’t be. “Winry,” he said, reaching out to her. “What is it? Why did you come here? You knew…we’d be coming back, right?” 

Her hands fisted and opened again as she hiccupped, “Granny’s dead, Ed! Den, too. They didn’t wake up after,” she twirled a finger in the air. “We tried to bring Granny back, and nothing worked, Ed. She’s gone. I buried them both, and I couldn’t…I tried to reach you! I called and called and,” Winry put her hands over her face. “I tried,” she whispered. “I wanted you guys there, for – for Granny, but I couldn’t get through.” 

The two steps to reach her seemed to take as long to cross as the whole country, but Edward made it. He laid his hand on the crown of her head, sliding it down to pull her against him. “Winry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He buried his face against her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have been alone for that.” Pain swelled in his chest, keeping him from saying anything else. He held her tightly to make up for it. 

Winry shivered and her hands came up to clutch at his sides. Her tears soaked into his hospital shirt. Edward rocked her slowly, trying not to think on how horrible it had to have been, alone at Pinako’s gravesite. He’d failed her, again. “I’m sorry,” he grated out. “We should’ve…I should’ve been there.” If he’d listened to Mustang, maybe Alphonse and he would’ve been there for her. He should’ve called. He should’ve done so many things differently. “I’m so sorry, Winry!” 

She cried against him, not the great, racking sobs when she’d found out Scar was the man who’d killed her parents; no, these were almost silent. His heart splintered inside of him, aching for the loss of the old woman who’d done her best to raise him. How had Winry dealt with it by herself? That little thief had been there, and he hadn’t – how backwards was that? Edward rubbed her back and nuzzled her temple. “Winry…” 

“I know.” She let go of him, pushing back to wipe her eyes. “I’m b-breaking our promise.” 

Edward fished in his pocket, finding a napkin left over from his lunch. He used the cloth to wipe her eyes. “You didn’t, Winry. I did – I could’ve called you, but.” He kept stroking his thumb over her damp cheek. Her skin was so soft. He sighed. “Everything’s all fucked up, Winry, I’m sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect – Al healed, and the country safe.”

“That’s why I’m here, Ed.” Winry caught his hand, like she’d taken hold of Alphonse’s, but squeezing it tight. “Your Dad.” 

“What about him?” He couldn’t help but bridle at the mention of Hohenheim. 

“He’s…he’s dead, too, Ed. He came to the cemetery after Granny’s funeral.” Winry sniffled and took the napkin, wiping her nose with it. “He…he’s the one who told me to come to Central. To get you and Al, and to leave Central City.” She frowned up at him, the cloth still pressed to her nose. 

Something cold curled in Edward’s stomach. He had to think past it. He couldn’t let himself react right now. “What, him, too?” Edward growled, turning away from Winry, throwing his hand in the air. Hiding his eyes from her, so she wouldn’t know how he felt. “Mustang’s telling me the same thing – to get out of Central. But Al’s too weak.” He couldn’t say anything about the Stone, not to Winry. 

Winry wadded the napkin in her hands, glancing back toward the elevator. Toward the two soldiers watching them. She turned back, licking her lips. “Your dad meant it, Ed, he said it wasn’t safe. Not for any of us.” 

Edward rubbed his chin, scowling. Both the bastards thought it was bad. And Hawkeye, too. He’d believe her, but the other two – okay, Mustang was truthful up to a point, but he had his own agendas. This time, whatever he was doing could lead to his own death. Edward’d read the papers, about how it was lucky that so many State Alchemists had died (been killed by Scar, Edward had amended to himself while reading), so it would save the Amestrian people the trial costs. Hohenheim sending Winry here, to Central City, well, it meant he thought something bad was going to happen, too. His bastard father knew the best way to get his attention was through Winry, but Edward hated to think that both Hohenheim and Mustang might be right. 

“Ed?” 

“Sorry, Winry.” Sighing, Edward ran his hand over his hair. “I guess we need to talk to Al.” 

“Yeah.” Winry mustered a smile that turned into an annoyed grimace. “And I need to install your arm.” 

Edward gnashed his teeth at her. “I lost it saving the country, just like you told me to do!” 

Winry punched him in the chest. “You idiot!” she said, and Edward quailed back. Were those more tears in her eyes? 

“Why am I an idiot now?” he snapped. Anger, that was better than tears, it had to be, right? 

“Because you.” She sniffed again. 

Damn it, those _were_ tears. “Winry, please.” Edward half-raised his hand, not even sure what he was going to do. 

“Because you did it, Ed, you got Al’s body back, a-and you saved the country.” Winry blotted her eyes. 

Edward’s heart sank right down into his stomach. Fuck, that hurt. “Yeah, but I had help. That stupid prince, and that shit colonel, and even my bastard father. And Al, and the little bean girl. Ran Fan, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time looking at Winry. “I didn’t do it all alone.” 

“But you did it.” Her reddened eyes shone, and Edward gulped. Winry was so pretty, even with her face all blotchy from crying. Why hadn’t he ever realized it? No, maybe he had, he’d just – shoved it aside, because he couldn’t think about that sort of thing, not until Alphonse had his body back. _He has it now._ She smiled tremulously. “Thanks, Ed.” 

He managed to get out a gruff, “You’re welcome.” Edward realized the soldiers were paying a hell of a lot more attention to them than he wanted. He squinted, not recognizing them. Scowling, he turned back to Winry. Her fingers laced together. Dressed all in black, she wore mourning clothes. How the hell hadn’t he noticed, aside from the way the fabric hugged her curves? The silence between them stretched like taffy, and Edward wasn’t sure what to do. Should he smile, or hug her again? “Uh.” 

“I guess we should tell Al.” 

For a split second, Edward felt relief that Winry said something, then he realized they’d have to actually explain to Alphonse about the old hag, Den, and Hohenheim. “Yeah.” He couldn’t help himself, though; he ruffled her hair, letting his hand slip down to her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Winry put her arm around his waist, just like she had up in Briggs, and leaned against him. Stupid as it was, it seemed like his heart lightened a little bit. “Yeah,” he repeated, mentally preparing himself for how his brother might react to this news. “Let’s go talk to Al.” 

X X X 

“Here we are, sir,” Ross said, leading Roy off the elevator, “your floor, and your room is just a few doors down.” She lightly patted his fingers, tucked into the crook of her elbow. 

“Thank you, Second Lieutenant.” Roy caught a familiar scent in the air, and hid his smile. “Ah, First Lieutenant Hawkeye.” 

“Sir.” He wondered if she wore her uniform, and took a subtle, deeper inhalation. No hint of wool in the air, so she was in civilian clothing. He wondered if she wore a dress and mentally mourned the loss of his sight – Riza Hawkeye’s legs were a glorious thing to behold. “I was wondering if you would like to go on a trip around the park next door.” 

Roy squeezed Ross’s elbow. “Thank you, Second Lieutenant, that will be all.” 

“Sir,” Ross said, and Roy had no doubt she saluted. 

He saluted back, listening to the whisk of her uniform as she walked away. Cocking his head, he held out his hand. “Well, Lieutenant? I’m all yours.” 

She took his hand, guiding it to her elbow. “I’m sure you’re enjoying this, a chance to get closer to all the women.” 

Roy smirked. “Why, Lieutenant, you wound me.” He started walking with her, their steps in sync. Military training. He could hear the elevator shifting and whining in its tube and knew Hawkeye was leading him there. “It will be nice to get outside.” Behind them, he heard someone trailing, not a doctor, not with those cadenced steps. Breda? Brosch? Or someone else? He’d heard strange voices outside his room this morning, and Brosch had told him there were new soldiers at the end of the hall, ‘to keep order’. He wondered if Alphonse’s floor also had guards. Edward hadn’t mentioned them, nor had Ross. He’d have to ask. Guards would make everything more difficult. 

“I thought you could do with a little sun.” Hawkeye broke into his thoughts. “You’re paler than normal, sir.” 

“Ouch.” 

They stopped in front of the elevator, and Roy heard it approach; its whine and ringing bell announcing its arrival. The doors opened with a whoosh; a faint, foul odor preceding their entry. “Ready?” Hawkeye asked. 

He nodded, and they walked into the lift car. It shuddered, and Roy heard Hawkeye touch the button to take them to the ground floor. “Isn’t my guard coming with us?” The car jolted, then started down. Roy swallowed. 

“I thought you would appreciate a walk without an audience,” she said, “so Breda and Ross decided to detain them.” As he digested this thought, Hawkeye admitted, “I don’t like elevators, either.” 

“I don’t like losing control of my descent rate,” Roy admitted.

“You don’t like losing any control.” 

Roy tightened his mouth almost imperceptibly, hearing the soft rush of Hawkeye’s exhalation – the only amusement she’d allow herself to show at this point. “You’re right,” he finally said in agreement. 

“Don’t expect to get it back any time soon,” Hawkeye warned him as the elevator stopped with another jerk, the doors sliding open. 

This floor was definitely noisier, and held a scent of fresher air. Roy tipped his chin up slightly, listening to the general hubbub and intercom announcements that let him know they’d reached the ground floor. He squeezed Hawkeye’s elbow as she stepped off the elevator, leading him along with her. “It’s crowded,” she said. 

“I can hear.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell. Some of the people could use a bath. The fresher air kept the odors moving, something of a relief. The sudden thrum of tension in Hawkeye’s elbow alerted him. Roy asked softly, barely moving his mouth, “How many soldiers are in the lobby?”

“Three,” was Hawkeye’s prompt response. 

“I see.” Roy tightened his jaw, thinking how much easier this would all be, if Grumman hadn’t died. With him out of the way, and Frank Archer not being part of Bradley’s inner circle, the major general was one of the few higher-ranked officers not in prison or hospitalized at the end of the Promised Day. He’d been made Fuhrer pro tempore of Amestris. Why wouldn’t he want to keep control of that power? 

“Doors,” Hawkeye warned him, and guided him to push his way through the rotating doors. They stepped out into the afternoon sun. Roy turned his face toward the warmth, taking a deep breath. An unfamiliar smile spread across his face. He could taste the humidity in the air. It must’ve rained a few hours back, a light, spring rain. Cars running along the streets splashed through puddles, and Roy heard someone curse, knowing the man had to have been spattered by a passing vehicle. The grainy smell of horse droppings caught his attention, and he wondered who’d made a delivery in this district. 

Hawkeye said, “We have to cross the street. I’ll warn you when we reach the curb.”

“I would hope so,” Roy told her. How long they’d be out here? How long it would be before his guards broke free of Breda and Ross, to come looking for him? “Were you aware that Fullmetal’s mechanic is in town?”

“Winry’s here?” Hawkeye didn’t hesitate, but her voice changed slightly, as if she’d glanced at him when she asked her question. 

“Yes. And for some reason, she was very upset with him losing his arm.” 

“She puts a great deal of care into the automail she creates.” 

Roy turned his head as if he could read Hawkeye’s expression. “You seem to know a great deal about it, Lieutenant. Have you been in contact with Miss Rockbell?” 

“I’ve only met her twice, sir, but she left an impression on me. She’s very dedicated to the Elric brothers.” 

“And they, her.” Roy remembered the meeting they’d had with Fuhrer Bradley, before the Promised Day. The implied violence in Edward’s reaction to Miss Rockbell’s being made a hostage spoke volumes about his feelings toward her. At the time, Roy had thought Edward needed to learn to control his emotions, but that wasn’t Edward’s way. He _felt_ , intensely, and everyone knew what he was feeling. Particularly when he was annoyed with someone. 

“Curb, sir.” 

They stepped down and onto the street, and Hawkeye advised him when they had to step up again. The smell of green, growing things tickled Roy’s nose, making him sneeze. “Have our friends rejoined us yet?” 

“Coming out of the hospital doors now,” Hawkeye said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I daresay they’ll be busy, though.” 

The squeal of tires and a horrible, crashing sound made Roy turn automatically. “What happened?”

“Someone lost control of her car,” Hawkeye said. “Don’t worry, Rachel won’t have been hurt, and she didn’t hit anyone. But the soldiers will be distracted.” 

Rachel was one of the attractive young women employed by Madam Christmas. “By a lovely woman in distress.” Another smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Roy let Hawkeye lead him deeper into the park. 

They marched quickly along the path, until Hawkeye said, “Sir, precede straight ahead twenty paces. There is a park bench, and someone waiting to meet with you.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He released her elbow and began walking, wondering just who would have taken such elaborate precautions. When he touched the bench back, he felt the flaking paint, the dampness of the wood from the rain, and, then, a shoulder. “Good afternoon.” 

“Mustang,” Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong said, in her low, velvet-rough voice. “Remove your hand unless you want to lose it.” 

“You wound me,” he said, grinning. 

“I’d rather stab you with my sword.” She moved out from under his fingers and stood. Roy didn’t hear the tell-tale rattle of that saber, and wondered if she could actually be in civilian clothing. Damn it, this loss of sight couldn’t have come at a worse time. “But, as I know those guards of yours aren’t going to give us much time, I thought I should let you know that my brother will be taking care of the Elrics.” 

“Good.” Edward trusted Strongarm, and probably wouldn’t give him too much grief. And the sheer mass of the man would make the guards hesitate, giving the Elrics a chance to get out of the hospital without much trouble. At least, that’s what Roy hoped. “Anything else?” 

“Oh. Yes.” Armstrong slammed something into his chest, making him gasp. “Alex Louis thought you needed flowers.” 

Roy coughed, grasping the pot of what smelled like freesia. “Tell him thanks,” he managed to spit out. 

“If I remember.” She stood up. “I suppose I should tell you thank you, Mustang. You have helped clear my way to the Fuhrer’s seat.” 

“I didn’t do it for you.” Setting the pot on the bench next to him, Roy didn’t bother hiding the pain in his chest. “I did it to protect the people of Amestris.” 

Armstrong made no response to that; instead, she went off on a slightly different tack. “You know, you could have disappeared, you and your entire team. Alex Louis would have helped you vanish. And I know about your aunt, and her abilities to transport items across this country and into others. There is a tunnel that surrounds Amestris, and you know how effective it is, to hide not just people, but entire troops.” Roy heard a rustle of fabric, and guessed she folded her arms. “So, the question becomes, why are you not taking advantage of any of these choices?”

“Sometimes, running away isn’t an option.” Roy tilted his head up toward her. “Besides, you’d find me even more distasteful if I cut and run, even if I did it to save my men.” Smirking, he added, “And I don’t want to be any more distasteful to you than I already am, Olivier.” 

The bark of a laugh let him know he’d struck close. “I suppose you’re right, Mustang, though I hate to think you’d do this just to try and impress me.” She lowered her voice. “You’re simply not my type at all.” 

“You have no idea how disappointing that is to me, Olivier. I’m wounded.” Roy clutched at his chest, wincing for real at the spot she’d hit with the potted plant. He got to his feet. “I don’t suppose you could lead me back to Hawkeye.” 

“I’m not your guide dog, Mustang,” Armstrong snorted. “Stay here, and she’ll come find you. Maybe. Or, if not her, your little friends. That little display of leg and crumpled metal won’t keep them distracted for long.” 

“You are a cruel woman, Olivier.” 

“I am not a dreamer. I am practical.” Roy could feel her looking down on him. “You and my brother, even Fullmetal, you’re all romantics. That’s what’s going to get you killed.” 

X X X

The tall hedges around the park provided an excellent shade, and Kimblee took advantage of it, settling onto a bench backed up nearly against the yew. Soon, he knew he’d need to enter the hospital, or leave the area; his bladder already protested the too-sweet cold drink he’d had from the vendor earlier. 

Birds pecked around on the sidewalk nearby; mourning doves and robins, taking Kimblee back to his childhood and how he’d entertained himself with such small animals. He’d been an inquisitive child, very intrigued by the way things worked, and that included the mechanics of muscle and bone, not to mention how creatures reacted to certain kinds of stimuli. Over time, he’d learned he could make people react by simply using words – a fascinating discovery, and one he employed as often as he could. Kimblee supposed that as part of the reason he’d sided with the homunculi – it wasn’t just the thought there would be a brand new world if they’d won the battle, but their reactions, or at least Envy’s, were so very extreme. 

Kimblee sighed through his nose. There were definitely times when he missed Envy, and the company the homunculus offered. Envy’s shape-changing abilities would have been helpful at this point. Pride had been amusing, in its own way, but not as direct in its hatred of humans as Envy had been, and, its childlike appearance aside, it didn’t enjoy playing the games Envy did. Kimblee wondered what might have happened had he met Envy earlier in his life. Now, he, himself, was the only one left of that group, and only because Pride had swallowed him. Its lack of control once reduced to an embryonic state by Edward Elric surprised Kimblee. He thought Pride would’ve fought harder to keep its life. Instead, its body remained behind, some remnants of its Philosopher’s Stone fueling both it and Kimblee’s lifeforce, but Kimblee discovered his own force of will was far stronger than Pride’s – despite the creature’s name. 

A movement at the doorway caught his eye, and Kimblee glanced that way, tucking himself back deeper into the shadows when he realized Hawkeye and Mustang were exiting the hospital’s rotating doors. The soldiers at the entrance moved to intercept them, but, with impeccable timing, a car appeared around the corner of the building, revving down the street as if the driver had lost control of the machine. The tires squealed as the car swerved, leaping the curb, and crashing into the hospital wall. 

Kimblee smirked to himself as the soldiers hesitated a second, then turned to investigate the car and the lovely blond woman within it. Flame and his adjutant walked toward the park, just a few meters away. Kimblee hoped his signature white suit didn’t attract Hawkeye’s attention. Then again, being as close as he was to a hospital, maybe he’d be mistaken for a doctor. 

As it was, she seemed far more solicitous of Mustang than watching her surroundings, making sure he crossed the street promptly, but with care, too. As Hawkeye led Mustang deeper into the park, Kimblee took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of leaking petrol, the stink of hospital’s furnace, the faint, sweet smell of green, growing things. Kimblee tapped his fingers on the bench, and made his decision. 

Before he could actually rise to his feet, he spotted something that he hadn’t expected. “Strongarm?” What reason did he have to visit the hospital? Frowning, Kimblee got up, heading to the nearest telephone booth. He thought he could convince Archer to send a few extra soldiers to handle the alchemists, or at least, make a show of handling them. When he got through today, Kimblee planned on at least one of them being dead. 

X X X


	7. Chapter Six:  Hero

  
**Chapter Six: Hero**  
_Don’t be a hero, don’t be a fool with your life_  
**Paper Lace, "Billy, Don’t Be a Hero”**  


It was hard, just as hard as Winry’d expected, but going through it with Alphonse was even worse than telling Edward. Alphonse couldn’t control his emotions yet, and broke down sobbing. Edward patted his brother’s head, his mouth drawn into a thin, grim line. Paninya withdrew to the foot of the bed so Winry could hug Alphonse, his shudders transmitting through to her, making her cry, too.

“I can’t believe it,” Alphonse mumbled into her shoulder. “All three of them?” His voice broke, and he started crying again. 

Winry looked at Edward over Alphonse’s head. He held her gaze, his eyes red, though she couldn’t see any tears. His larynx bobbed repeatedly, though, and she wondered how hard he fought to hold it in. Stretching, she grabbed for his shirt, the only thing she could reach, and tugged. Edward shifted even closer, sandwiching Alphonse between them. Winry slid her hand to the center of his back, and glanced down at Paninya. She beckoned her friend with her head, and Paninya hesitated for an instant, until Edward nodded, then she crawled up, putting her arms around them, too. 

Alphonse hiccupped, and sniffled, and finally grew silent. Winry leaned back, ducking her head so she could look into his face. “You should rest,” she told him. 

“I c-can’t… Granny, and Dad, and Den.” Another wave of tears brightened his eyes. 

Edward ruffled Alphonse’s hair, pressing his cheek against Alphonse’s shoulder. Paninya rubbed his legs. Winry stroked his back, trying not to grimace at the bumps of his spine. How could Paninya talk about how cute Alphonse was, when he was just skin and bones? 

“I want to go to their graves, Ed,” Alphonse raised his head, determined. “I want to say my goodbyes.” 

Edward grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “Al.” 

“You can’t go looking like this,” Paninya said, petting his bony shin. 

“I’m still going!” Alphonse’s voice rose, making Winry wince. “I’m going to go to Risembool.” He thumped his balled-up fist on the mattress. “You can help me or not, but I’m going!” 

The door opened, a nurse peering in. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she said, sharply, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Major Elric, and you, too.” She pointed her chin at Paninya and Winry. “You’re upsetting Alphonse.” 

“No, Nurse Harrigan,” Alphonse said, clutching at Winry’s arm with bony fingers. “They’re fine, it’s just,” his eyes teared up again. 

“That’s it,” Nurse Harrigan said, “I need you to leave now.” When Edward opened his mouth, she added, “Please don’t make me call security.” 

Winry slipped off the bed, but paused to wrap an arm around Alphonse, pressing her forehead against his cheek for a second. “She’s right, Al, you need to rest. You’ll feel better afterward.” She wiped the tears off his cheek, hoping she wasn’t lying.

“Yeah, Al,” Edward sighed, and dropped off the bed with a loud thump. “We’ll be back. But you need to rest up, and get better.” He squeezed Alphonse’s arm. “Maybe I’ll have all my limbs when you wake up.” 

Alphonse managed a watery smile. “Yeah, that’d be great.” His hand trembled when he tried to wipe his eyes. 

“You can all see him tomorrow,” Nurse Harrigan said. “Now, I need you to get out of his room.” She made a shooing motion at them as Paninya hopped off the bed. 

“Later, Al,” she said, winking at him. 

“Yeah.” With a shuddering sigh, Alphonse lay down. He smiled again, for Edward. “I’ll be okay, Ed.” 

Edward clenched his hand into a fist, but raised it toward Alphonse in that gesture he used as he backed out the door. Paninya grabbed her bag and the automail case as Winry picked up her own luggage, following Edward out the door. He stalked down the hall, his shoulders tight. Before he got halfway down the corridor, he let out a loud grunt, kicking a trashcan and denting it. 

“Wow,” Paninya muttered. 

“Ed,” Winry started to say, then snapped her mouth closed. That same pair of soldiers were watching. Instead of saying anything more, she bumped Edward’s ribs with her elbow, frowning at him when he grunted and turned on her. “Ed, we can’t do anything now. And I don’t know about you, but Paninya and I need something to eat.” As soon as she mentioned eating, she winced. Alphonse was flesh and bone again, instead of armor, but still in a horrible state. “Is there a café in the hospital?”

Edward’s glare bounced off her and he shot it instead at Alphonse’s door. “Yeah. But late as it is, it’s closed.” Growling, he turned away from Winry, pulling loose. “There’s a little place, a coupla blocks away.” 

“So you’ll take us there?” Paninya asked brightly. 

“And we’ll need a place to stay, and somewhere I can work on your arm,” Winry reminded Edward. 

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been sleeping in the hospital.” 

Winry couldn’t fold her arms with her toolkit and bag in her hands, so she settled for a toss of her head. “Yeah, I can smell.” Edward squeaked out something that made Winry want to use her oil can. Paninya couldn’t quite smother her giggles with her hands. “Seriously, Ed! You need a bath, and you ought to wash your hair – it looks tarnished.”

“Nng!” Showing his teeth at her, Edward leaned closer, obviously preparing for an argument. A coughed laugh from someone outside their circle made Edward clench his jaw. “Come on,” he growled, jerking his head to lead Winry and Paninya along. 

The soldiers shifted to block the elevator door. “Major Elric,” the taller one said, and Winry winced inwardly at the tone of his voice. 

“Yeah,” Edward said curtly, “what is it, Sergeant?” 

“I’m afraid I need to know where you’re going.” He mouthed the words politely enough, but his face looked like stone. Beside her, Winry felt Paninya shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and knew her friend was getting ready to do something. 

Edward stiffened, his chin tilting up. “I’m taking these two to get a hotel room, not that it’s any of your business.” 

The elevator bell chimed, interrupting the sergeant, and the doors opened to release the bulk of a large man’s body. Major Armstrong stepped out and Winry could swear the air around him glittered. “Ah, Major Edward Elric! It is so good to see you!” He strode through the hall, scattering the two soldiers like they were chickens. “And Alphonse, he’s on this floor, too? Excellent. Doctor? Please, come with me.” 

A red-haired woman appeared out of the elevator. A rounder, older, blond nurse followed close behind. The doctor nodded tightly at them while the nurse smiled. Somehow, Winry thought the nurse looked familiar, then realized her features were similar to Major Armstrong’s, and snapped her mouth shut. “Where is Mr. Alphonse Elric?” the doctor asked, with an accent Winry didn’t recognize. 

Paninya pointed dumbly back down the hall, blinking up at Major Armstrong. 

“There, Doctor,” Major Armstrong boomed, following Paninya’s gesture with one of his own. “Please, see to your patient.” 

“That is not allowed, sir,” the sergeant said, stepping into the path of the red-headed woman. 

“Not allowed?” Moustache bristling, Major Armstrong loomed over the two soldiers. “I do not understand what you are saying, Sergeant. Alphonse Elric needs additional care. A private doctor and nurse can provide that care, far better than hospital staff. Not that there is anything wrong with this hospital, but current staff is overwhelmed with the patients who have needed their assistance since the eclipse.”

Edward gaped at Major Armstrong. “What’s going on?”

“I have taken the liberty of requesting Dr. Anderson to see to your younger brother. She has dealt with these types of cases in the past,” Major Armstrong said. Winry watched the red-headed doctor and her blond nurse push into Alphonse’s room. She took a step toward it, then hesitated, glancing back at Major Armstrong. He made a beckoning motion at her with the hand farthest away from the soldiers, his body blocking the movement. Paninya grabbed Winry’s elbow, pulling her closer. Edward moved, too, though toward Alphonse’s room. “Edward Elric, please, let Dr. Anderson do her job,” Major Armstrong said. 

“But,” Edward half-turned back to Major Armstrong. Whatever else he might’ve said was lost in the explosion that rocked the building. 

X X X

The soldiers arrived only about fifteen minutes after Kimblee made his call. The gratification of prompt responses reminded Kimblee of why he enjoyed the military. So punctual. So willing to believe anyone who had a rank higher than them. “Gentlemen,” Kimblee said, “today, we are collecting the Flame Alchemist. He has had orders to remain confined to quarters, specifically, the hospital room where he has been…resting…since his injuries.” 

There was a faint murmuring, like the susurration of leaves in a gentle breeze, but no one made any disagreement. Kimblee tapped his fingertips together. “He is currently within the park boundaries,” he’d made sure of that, finding Mustang on a bench, though not approaching. There were other plays that required his attention before he confronted Flame again. “Mustang may try to talk his way out of your control. Do not listen to him.” Kimblee punctuated that sentence by pointing at each of the six soldiers. “The Flame Alchemist is known as the Hero of Ishbal. He must have his ignition gloves to activate the circle that transmutes his fire alchemy. That doesn’t mean he might not have other tricks up his sleeve. Be careful, and be cautious. There is a reason why the Ishbalans still fear him. The fact he is blind does not mean he is not dangerous.” Kimblee folded his arms. “Do I make myself clear, soldiers?”

“Yes, sir!” they responded together. 

He allowed himself a faint smile. “Excellent. There are a few more alchemists that we should be wary of. The Strongarm Alchemist and the Fullmetal Alchemist are also within the hospital currently. I do not think they will cause us any worries, but I wanted you to be aware.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Soldiers, so perfectly bidable. Kimblee smiled broadly. “Go fetch Mustang, and bring him back here to me.” Not bothering to watch them trot off, Kimblee turned his attention to the hospital again. He had other things to take care of, and if that car hadn’t been cleared away, it would make a good starting point for what he had planned. 

X X X

The cadenced steps alerted Roy that his guardians had managed to find him. He smiled, getting to his feet. “Ah, I was hoping someone would come and take me back to the hospital.”

The sound of safeties being flicked off of pistols startled him. “Freeze, Flame Alchemist!” 

The incongruity of it nearly made him laugh, but Roy raised his hands to shoulder level. “Gentlemen, I assure you, I am unarmed, and no threat.” 

“Shut up!” the youngish voice said. “Get down on your knees.” 

“You are aware I am blind,” Roy said, but he carefully eased his way down to one knee. The hospital sandals did nothing to protect his feet from the cement. He managed not to wince at the scrape on the top of his left big toe. Dropping his hand to the rough pathway to keep his balance, he heard an intake of breath from one of the men surrounding him. “I am no threat,” he repeated carefully. “Or would you rather me be face-down?” 

“Shut. Up.” The young tough approached close enough that Roy could smell the polish on his shoes. Something hard pressed against his skull, and Roy identified it as the muzzle of a pistol. “You were not supposed to leave the hospital,” the man whispered. The pressure against Roy’s head forced it sideways. “Do you understand? There are people terrified of alchemists.”

“I was unaware that I was confined to quarters,” Roy said, deliberately slow. “I will be happy to accompany you back to my hospital room.” Feeling the faint tremor running through the pistol to his head, Roy froze. He bit his tongue, the pain forcing him to concentrate on something other than the gun, thinking it was a good thing Hawkeye wasn’t anywhere close by. He could only imagine how she might react to this scenario. 

“Damn right you will,” the soldier hissed. “And you’ll be a good little soldier, won’t you? Obey the rules, just like the dog you are. Your staff is under our surveillance, you know, and you, you are next on the chopping block.” 

“Then you know I’ll be a very good dog,” Roy said, through his teeth. 

“I know that you slipped your collar once before, Colonel.” He made the title sound like a curse. “And you’ve tried to slip it again today. There’s no reason I shouldn’t take my shot now. It’d save the citizens the trial fees.” 

Roy gritted his teeth as the barrel moved down to his temple, caressing it. “Repeating popular press? I’d expect better.” 

The muzzle pushed harder against his temple. “Where do you think they came up with the quote?” 

Roy sighed, his body slumping. “You have me. I am in your control.”

“Damn straight,” the young man gloated. There was a hesitation, and he said, “You, and you, help him up. Keep your hands on him, though; don’t let go. He’s tricky. Don’t let his sightlessness fool you. He was still using his alchemy after he lost his sight. It’s in the reports.” 

The pistol pulled slightly away from Roy’s temple as two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly under the arms to haul him up to his feet. Roy let them manipulate him as if he was a doll, his weight dragging them down. He mumbled to his captors, “Sorry. I really am blind. Please let me know where the curb is? I don’t want to trouble you by falling.” 

“Maybe we’ll just drop you in the street,” one of the men grumbled. 

“Not enough traffic,” the other one, taller, and on his left, sighed. 

Roy caught a whiff of something, a smell all too familiar. Petrol. What had Rachel done when she’d crashed her car? 

“Are we really taking him back to the hospital room?” 

“Chase is calling the shots.” There was a slight hesitation, and the one on the left said, grudgingly, “Curb.” 

“I’m surprised they didn’t get that accident cleaned up yet,” the right-sided soldier said, tsking. 

“Was anyone hurt?” Roy asked, feeling for the edge of the curb and stepping down carefully. 

“No, but the car,” left-hand let out a low whistle, then said, “ _kwisssh,_ ” for emphasis. 

The wind funneled by the park on one side and the hospital building on the other. The sounds let Roy know where people were – gathered around the smell of petroleum, their voices and the stink coming to him together on the breeze. Roy blinked, wishing, briefly, for Hawkeye and her hand on his shoulder, guiding him. 

The soft clap of a gun firing and the whine of a bullet cutting through air alerted him. There was a scream, and the men holding Roy’s arms stiffened in shock. Another crack-whiz sent a lot of screamers scattering. “What the hell?” the soldier on the right said, his grip on Roy’s arm loosening. 

“Sniper!” the youngish commander shouted, “arms at ready!” 

“You, stay out of the way,” the left-hand soldier snapped, shoving Roy back. And just like that, Roy was free. He took a step away, listening closely, not to the shouts of the soldiers, but the other sounds. Another crack-whiz, coming from another direction, and it struck something metallic. Roy couldn’t help his smirk. He had his trajectory; knew which way to aim. 

Alchemy without a transmutation circle still seemed too strange, but Roy pressed his hands together before snapping his fingers, sending a thin gout of flame straight at the wrecked car. The satisfying ‘whump’ of the car exploding nearly drowned out the additional screams the detonation caused. 

“Stand down, stand down!” someone screamed. “Mustang, stand down!” 

Roy smiled at the sound of pistols cocking, and touched his palms again. 

The explosion that happened afterward sent him flying. 

X X X 

Kimblee rubbed his hands together, smiling as the fire rained down on the soldiers and Roy Mustang. “Sorry, Flame, but it’s time you were actually useful to me.” Moving back out of the way of the frightened, running people, he settled himself against the hedge. There might still be a drama to be played out, and right now, he had the front row. If only the seating was better. 

He supposed that beggars really couldn’t be choosers, and really, it was better in this position than what he’d seen during the Promised Day. Smiling faintly, he addressed his little parasite. “Pride, would you like to see what a very minor hell looks like?”

There was no answer, and Kimblee’s smile grew. Maybe Pride had grown tired, and given up, though he doubted it. He thought the homunculus might be biding its time, waiting for him to lose control, so it could wrest it back. 

Well, he’d have to remain alert to that threat. It was about the only one he could foresee at the moment, unless Archer decided to send him back to prison. Another possibility, but less likely to happen. Kimblee had waited long years for his release from incarceration, and he didn’t intend to return, no matter what the circumstances. His friend, if Envy could be considered a friend, had released him from jail, and if nothing else, Kimblee owed the homunculus for his freedom. 

“I know that’s probably a strange thing, to you, to consider how Envy might have felt dying,” Kimblee told Pride. “But Envy was my ally, in every sense of the word. You, on the other hand, ate me.” 

_Do you think Envy wouldn’t have done the same, given the proper circumstances?_ Pride asked, sounding so very haughty. 

“Possibly, but I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Kimblee watched as a soldier fell into the consuming flames. The sweet smell of cooking meat perfumed the air, bringing back far too many memories. If only he had someone who appreciated his art with him today. 

X X X

Winry realized she was on the floor, her ears ringing. Someone’s hard hand crushed her wrist, and she could just make out the sound of her name. “ – inry!” 

“What?” she shouted back, shaking her head and opening and closing her mouth to try to make her ears pop. Smoke clouded the hall, making it hard to see, and to breathe. She coughed, rubbing at her eyes. 

“Get up! We have to get out of here!” Edward yelled, leaning so close to her face, their noses nearly touched. Blood stained his bangs and streaked his face. It looked like that old wound above his eyebrow had reopened. 

“Right,” Winry said grimly, managing to get her feet under her, ignoring the twinge in her left thigh, realizing she’d landed on her toolkit. She grabbed it with her free hand, shakily getting up. “Al? Paninya?”

“Armstrong. He grabbed Al, and Paninya went with them. I told them I’d get you out!” Edward pulled at her. Winry took the hint and got up. Her leg nearly gave way for a second, sending her staggering into the wall. “Are you okay?” Edward kept hold of her wrist. 

“Yeah, Ed.” Taking a shaky breath, Winry straightened. “The automail case?”

“Hnn! Don’t worry about that! We’ve got to get out of here.” Glancing around, Edward gave her arm a tug. “Stairs, there. Come on, Winry.” 

She stumbled along for a few steps but caught her balance and kept moving. Head aching, half-blind and –deaf, she trusted Edward to pull her along. He coughed, kicking at the door to force it open. “Wait a second.” Holding her back to let a stretcher go by, Edward flashed a grim look that only grew darker as they entered the stream of people on the stairs. 

The stairway was clogged with hospital staff and the patients they could move down them. Winry heard people crying, and could smell smoke and blood. Part of her wanted to stop, to help, but Edward didn’t give her a chance. His expression, when he glanced back and up at her, told her just how much he hated himself for not letting her help. For not stopping, himself. “We have to get to Al,” he coughed, and she nodded, letting him pull her along. 

Winry trusted Major Armstrong to get Alphonse out of the hospital, and Paninya to stick close to him. It wouldn’t be too hard to find them once Edward and she got outside, she was sure of it. Edward’s tread rang out on the concrete, one step louder than the other from the weight of his automail. He kept his balance on the stairs by gripping her wrist, sometimes by bouncing off the wall. Winry stabilized him on his left side as best she could. 

Four floors lay between them and the street, and Winry only had to haul back on Edward once to keep him from tumbling down the stairs. Finally, they reached the ground floor, exiting the stairwell to find a mass of people, fighting to leave the hospital. Edward gnashed his teeth, twisting from side to side, standing on his toes in an attempt to see over the heads of the people around them. “Damn it!” 

“There, Ed!” Winry pulled him this time, toward a narrow hallway with a door at the end. Edward had to kick it open, too, his metal leg battering at the doorknob until it broke, sending the door flying wildly. It crashed into the wall but they’d already made their way through before the door bounced closed. 

“Where the hell are we?” Edward coughed, shaking his head, slinging blood from his cut. “Shit!” 

“Alley, it looks like. That way.” It was her turn to lead Edward, and Winry moved quickly through the wide alley, heading for a splash of green ahead of them. She thought it might be the park across the street from the hospital. What safer place to be than out in the open?

Edward’s head came up like a restless horse. “Did you hear that?” 

“What?” Winry couldn’t hear much; her ears still rang from the blast. 

“Guns,” Edward said grimly. “Stay back.” 

“I’m not waiting here,” Winry argued. “If the building comes down - ” 

“Nng! I don’t think there’ll be another explosion!” His teeth flashed in emphasis. 

“I don’t care!” 

Edward shook his head at her determination, but gave up after a split second. “Fine! Stay behind me, then!” Creeping to the alley’s entrance, Edward blocked Winry with his body as he peered around the corner of the building. “Damn it, what’s going on out there?” 

Peering over his shoulder, Winry caught sight of a mass of blue uniforms, surrounding someone who looked to be wearing hospital whites. A fire crackled behind the man in white, sending billowing clouds of black smoke toward the sky. More people were leaving the hospital in mobs, massing in front of the building, blocking Winry’s view of the soldiers. She turned her attention instead to trying to spot Major Armstrong. His height and girth made him stand out in the crowd, and it only took a few seconds for her to find him. “Ed, it’s Major Armstrong.” She couldn’t see Alphonse, but surely he had to be with the Major. “Ed?” 

He’d taken a few steps outside the alley. “What the hell?” Spinning back around, Edward shoved her into the alley, pressing her against a wall. “Winry, you need to stay here.”

“What?” Winry slapped his chest with her free hand. “Ed, we should to go to the Major!”

“You can,” Edward told her, glancing over his shoulder, “but the bastard’s in trouble. I can’t just let him face this alone!”

“Ed.” Her voice trailed off. He didn’t even seem to be listening to her. Gritting her teeth, Winry pushed at him. “Ed! What about Al?”

Gunfire erupted and Edward jerked, almost as if he’d been the one hit. “No!” He froze after lunging out of the alley. Winry crashed into his back, rocking him, but not hard enough to knock him down. She couldn’t see anything at first, then a dark-haired man straightened in front of the flaming car. The soldiers crouched in front of him, some of them pointing their pistols away from the burning wreck, others aiming directly at the man. Winry gasped, realizing she recognized him. 

Edward let out a growl, his body tensing. “Winry, get to Armstrong. He’ll make sure you’re safe.” 

She grabbed his arm before he could move. “No, Ed, you can’t.” 

Jerking at her grip, Edward shot her a furious glare. “Go! I can’t protect you! He can!”

“You’re not going over there!” Winry wrapped her other arm around his waist, holding him back. “Ed!”

People from the hospital screamed and scattered as gunfire erupted again. One of the soldiers fell with a curse, loud enough to be heard even where they stood. Straining against her grip, Edward squirmed sideways, pulling free. “Mustang!” he yelled.

The dark-haired man turned his head, and even at the distance, Winry could see the shock on his face. It firmed into a grim mask, and the man raised his right hand, not quite forming a fist. Edward screamed, “No!” 

The burning car suddenly exploded, the flames roaring toward the sky, sending the soldiers scrabbling backward. The blast crashed into Edward and Winry, flinging them to the sidewalk. Winry couldn’t remember a pain like this; Edward sprawled partially on her, struggling to sit up, his automail bruising her leg. Her side and back and elbows felt bruised, too. Managing to get semi-upright, Edward stared at the flames, one eye half-closed from blood running down his face, the other wide and staring. 

Winry grunted, trying not to remember the last time she’d fallen so hard. Screams seemed to come from far away, but one thing came all too clear – a single gunshot. The crack of it echoed off the building. 

Edward screamed, loud and wordless, a howl that cut through her heart as the dark-haired man fell backward into the flames, the fire gouting up even higher. 

X X X


	8. Chapter Seven:  Destination, Anywhere

  
**Chapter Seven: Destination, Anywhere**   
_Destination, anywhere,  
East or west, I don’t care_   
**The Commitments, “Destination, Anywhere”**

Paninya wasn’t about to let go of the automail case. If she didn’t drop it, Winry and Edward would be okay. They’d be coming out of that building any second now, and come running over to her. Well, not her, maybe; but definitely Alphonse, and the really huge soldier carrying Alphonse in his arms. 

As if he’d realized she was looking at him, the soldier turned his bright blue eyes her way. “Are you keeping up, young lady?”

“I’m fine, sir!” she chirped, but couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, hoping to spy her friends. 

“Do not worry, young lady,” the soldier boomed, “Edward Elric will protect Miss Rockbell.” 

“If Brother isn’t being an idiot,” came Alphonse’s weak voice. He coughed, and added hastily, almost before he’d finished coughing, “I’m fine, Major!” 

“You will be,” the soldier said, almost softly. He led the way across a street, toward the swatch of green that had fascinated Paninya earlier. “I have a car waiting,” he said, turning back toward the hospital. “Once I get you home, Alphonse Elric, you will have excellent care. Dr. Anderson and Nurse Miller have been family physicians for the Armstrong family for years! You will soon be strong and healthy again! And I will take care of your physical training!” 

Alphonse blanched, and Paninya wasn’t sure how he could get even more pale. “But,” he protested, “Winry. She’s always done our – I mean, Ed’s therapy. I was thinking,” his voice trailed off as the major turned in place. “What…what’s that?”

Paninya craned her neck, peering out from behind the soldier’s bulk. There was a fire burning up against the hospital wall, the flames shooting high enough to crack the second story windows. “Wow,” she whispered. 

“Flame,” the soldier rumbled, sounding shocked. 

Yeah, there were a lot of them, Paninya thought, horrified. Some more men in blue were near the fire, with another man, dressed in hospital whites, like Alphonse. 

“That’s Colonel Mustang!” Alphonse said, and Paninya glanced up at him. “Major, put me down, please – go help him!” He batted at the major’s chest, as effective as a kitten smacking a building. “Please, Major Armstrong!” 

He swallowed, his larynx bobbing, and he turned his face away. “I have a duty to you and this young woman,” the major said, though Paninya could swear she saw tears in his eyes. “I cannot assist Colonel Mustang at this time.” He straightened, clutching Alphonse even closer to his chest. “And I made a promise to take care of you, Alphonse Elric.” He added lowly, “I have my orders.” 

Paninya jerked, almost like she’d been hit. Turning toward the hospital, she watched the fire leap higher, licking all the way up to the third floor windows. “But there all those people inside!”

“Yeah,” Alphonse agreed, squirming in the major’s arms. “We can’t let them die!”

Moustache twitching, Major Armstrong fixed them both with a beady glare. “No,” he said, “you are both correct; we cannot let anything more happen to them.” He glanced around, spotting something. “Miss, come with me.” Without waiting for her response, he strode off, forcing Paninya to run along after him. He stopped abruptly, next to a bench in the shade of some large bushes. “Here, Alphonse Elric,” the major said, as he placed Alphonse on the bench, “you wait here with young young friend.” 

Alphonse shook his head, stubborn, trying to stand up on his spindly legs. “I can help you!”

“You cannot help me, Alphonse Elric, not in the shape you are in. Wait here. Miss, please look for Edward Elric and Miss Rockbell.”

Paninya nodded rapidly, already moving to stand on the bench so she could see over the heads of the scattering people. Alphonse tried to take a step after the major as he made his way back through the crowd, but Paninya grabbed him by the collar of his hospital gown. “Uh-uh, Al, you have to stay here.” 

“But I can help, Paninya!” Alphonse turned eyes that were better suited to a puppy on her. 

“You can’t even walk three steps! And Ed and Winry would kill me if I let anything happen to you!”

“Then you can come with me,” he pleaded. “Please!” 

“No, Al!” Paninya shook her head. She didn’t know anything about alchemy, and whether Alphonse needed to be healed to be able to power however it was that alchemy worked. “You’re not strong enough.” She tapped his shoulder lightly, nearly knocking him backward with that push. “Sit down, Al, please.”

His spindly hands clenched into fists. “I have to do something!”

“You have to wait, Alphonse.” 

Her voice was low and vibrant, and Paninya gaped up at another tall person, a woman with long, blond hair. She swooped down to Alphonse’s level, and still towered over him. “You can do nothing, Alphonse. Not yet. You must wait. I know it makes your skin crawl that you have to, but you are not well enough to do anything. You must heal, and later, you can fight.” 

Alphonse’s mouth fell open. “Major General Armstrong?” he whispered. 

She frowned sharply and Alphonse winced. “No titles, no names. And you and your friend are coming with me, since you convinced _him_ to get involved.” She scooped up Alphonse like a baby. He squeaked, his eyes huge, as Major General Armstrong started walking. “Hopefully, someone can find your brother.” Giving Paninya a look over her shoulder, she beckoned with a toss of her glorious long hair. “Come along.” 

“But,” Alphonse started to protest, quailing back from the glare the major general gave him. 

Paninya chewed on her lower lip, glancing back at the hospital. “Sorry, Winry,” she whispered. “I’ll see you soon.” Refreshing her grip on the automail case, she trotted after the blond woman carrying her friend. 

X X X 

Flames seared the walls of the hospital, blackening and blistering the white paint. The stink of roasting pork made Edward heave. He swallowed hard, trying to keep control of his stomach. His throat ached, something he just realized. Soldiers scattered in front of the flames, some of them on fire. A few hospital workers were trying to help them, but no one made a move toward those burning within the largest fire. 

“ – ward! Ed!”

Someone screamed his name almost in his ear, jerking on his arm. Edward yanked free, his body spinning automatically. His fist clenched hard as a hammer as he drew it back, cocked it, let it fly. 

Realization struck as soon as he met her eyes - _Winry!_ His muscles screamed in protest as Edward tried to throw himself sideways, pivoting on his heel to knock himself off target. “Gnnn!” He crashed to the sidewalk, his knees cracking so hard on the cement, he nearly bit his tongue off. Tasting blood, Edward spat red. 

“Ed!” Winry was on her knees next to him, her hands on his shoulders. Tears pooled in her eyes as she said something, but Edward couldn’t even hear the words through the pounding in his skull. He’d nearly fucking _hit_ her. She shook him, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “Edward!” 

“Shut up, Winry!” Edward raised his hand to force her back, ignoring how her face crumbled. Mustang, he couldn’t have – could he? If the bastard was going to fucking commit suicide, he wouldn’t have taken out those soldiers, would he? They were just doing their fucking job! Edward pushed to his feet, trying to see what was happening, swearing under his breath that the knots of people and his lack of height kept him from knowing anything. 

“Ed,” Winry cried, “we have to leave!” 

He waved her off. “You can go – go find Al!” 

“I’m not leaving without you!” Winry snatched his shirt, holding him there. “Ed, we have to get out of here!” 

Rounding, Edward leaned into her, his teeth gritted and his hand balled up. “Let me go, Winry.” 

“You can’t help him, Ed.” Winry twisted her hand even tighter in his shirt. “There’s nothing you can do. Please!” 

Edward ground his teeth together, looking toward the hospital, and the flames licking up the walls. A massive bald man was moving through the screaming crowds. Armstrong had worked with the bastard before; maybe he could contain the fire, but still. “Damn it!” he howled, whirling away from Winry, his shirt ripping from her grip from the force of his turn. 

“Ed!” she cried out, but he left her behind, shoving his way through the crowds. He ignored Winry’s yells behind him, blocking her fear. Mustang wasn’t that much of a fucking idiot, was he? He wouldn’t have done that, commit – 

He couldn’t even say the word in his mind. Edward kept pushing and pushing until the heat of the flame slapped him in the face. The fire ate through the hospital walls. Ashed, smoking bodies lay in its wake. A crumpled car sat in the midst of the flames, making Edward wonder why it was there. Why Mustang had been out of the hospital? He wouldn’t have caused the explosion, would he?

The roar of the fire almost drowned out the screams and the shouts of the people still leaving the hospital in droves. Edward took a deep breath, staring at the flames. The heat made his eyes water, and he swiped his hand across his brow. “Bastard,” he whispered. Winry was right, there was nothing he could do for Mustang, but Alphonse, he still needed his big brother. “Fuck!” Spinning away from the fire, Edward pushed his way back through the crowds, hoping he’d be able to find Winry again. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d left him. 

Edward got back to the curb, turning in a slow circle, trying to spot Winry in the crowds of people still running away from the burning building. Eyes burning, he wiped them again, blinking away the blurriness. He saw an old man get knocked down and started forward, only to stop when someone else pulled the man up to his feet, keeping an arm around him to help him away. 

A clear, bell-like tone alerted Edward and he turned back toward the hospital. Armstrong activated a transmutation circle, sending a wave of detritus toward the fire. Not quite enough to extinguish it, the bodies were at least covered. Edward closed his eyes for a second, a flash of vertigo fogging his brain, making him feel like he was going to fall. Staggering, he fought to keep his balance. 

“Ed.” Winry’s hand slid around his back and she pressed up to his right side, where his arm should’ve been. “We’ve got to get out of here.” 

He wouldn’t ask how she found him. With a shuddering sigh, Edward rested against her for a second, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Yeah.” They couldn’t stay like that forever, though, and Edward straightened, shaking himself like a dog coming out of the water. “Armstrong got Al and Paninya to safety.” He had to think that way. Armstrong wouldn’t have waded back into the crowds unless he’d made sure Alphonse was safe, right? And the last time he’d seen Paninya, she was right behind Armstrong. “But we don’t know where, so we have to get someplace safe before we can find them. Come on.” Edward started moving, Winry walking with him, following the crowd for now. 

“Where?” Winry asked, and if they hadn’t been so close together, with her arm around his waist, Edward knew he wouldn’t have heard her. 

“Not the Hughes’.” Edward had considered that idea for a split second, but Mrs. Hughes didn’t need any more bad news at her doorstep. He knew where someone else lived in Central City, though, and thought they’d probably be safe there. “At the next corner, we need to go right.” 

Besides, he thought Lieutenant Hawkeye might be in need of some company.

X X X

Kimblee allowed the fleeing hospital patrons to buffet him, though he remained relatively immobile. He wanted to smile, to laugh, to clap his hands together and create more havoc, but restrained himself. Already, one of the State Alchemists was gone. Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, taken out by the same flames that had destroyed so many Ishbalans. Now, his body crisped like so many of the participants in the Ishbalan War. It had only taken a little extra nudge of Kimblee’s alchemy to set off the conflagration currently destroying the hospital’s eastern wing. Well, that and the explosion he’d set off earlier. 

And look at the carnage! Bodies – not nearly enough, not yet, but a good start – littered the sidewalk and roadway, at least, those not covered by Armstrong’s impromptu fire-fighting techniques. And Kimblee had seen Edward Elric approaching the flames, searching for some sign of Mustang’s survival. Kimblee had nearly acted then, remembering through what remained of Pride’s memories, how Edward had attacked Father, and Pride, too. What little remained of the tiny homunculus’s – for lack of a better word – soul was too weak to wrest control of this body from Kimblee. Still, that distraction gave Elric the time to escape back into the crowds, but with Kimblee making a mental note. Yes, Edward Elric would be recognizable as long as he was still missing his right arm.

X X X 

The immensity of the house was not lost on Alphonse. He gaped up at the huge building in front of him, highlighted by the setting sun. “Where are we?”

“The Armstrong family mansion,” Major General Armstrong said. “You will be safe here for the moment.” She piloted the car around to the back of the monstrous house, one that seemed even bigger than the Central City military headquarters. 

Goggling, Alphonse asked, “How many people live here?” 

“My parents and little sister and Alex Louis. My older sisters when they’re in town. Servants.” 

Alphonse startled at someone touching his hand, glancing toward Paninya. Her eyes were huge in her face, and she mouthed the word, “Wow,” without making a sound. 

“My brother should be coming home shortly.” Major General Armstrong stopped the car and putting on the parking brake. It still rumbled softly to itself. “Hopefully, he will have your brother in tow.” Getting out of the car, she spoke to a man who trotted from out of another building, one that seemed to have at least eight cars inside of it. He saluted her, then opened the back door, offering Paninya a hand to get out. Alphonse didn’t see if she took it, since Major General Armstrong opened the door on his side. “Are you ready?” she asked, and, without waiting for an answer, scooped him up to carry him inside. 

Paninya grabbed both of the cases, hauling them with her as she trotted to catch up to Major General Armstrong. Alphonse tried not to squirm in her grip, but it was hard not to. The Major General carried him into the mansion, striding through the building, her shoes rapping out a cadence on the marble floor. She headed directly for a staircase, not stopping but climbing quickly up it, leaving Paninya jogging behind. 

“This is a guest room,” Major General Armstrong said, pushing a door open with her shoulder. “You can stay here tonight.” Pausing next to the bed, she said, “Girl, pull the bedding down.” 

“Paninya,” Alphonse said, hating that it sounded like a whine, even to him. 

Paninya readied the bedding and Major General Armstrong settled Alphonse into the sheets, far more carefully than he would’ve expected. “There,” she said, nodding. “I’ll tell Franco that you two will be needing something to eat, and some fresh clothing in your case, Alphonse.” 

“Thank you,” Alphonse said. “Where can Paninya sleep?”

“There’s another room next door,” Major Armstrong said, giving them a look. “I assume you can control yourself?” she asked Paninya directly. 

“Y-yes, ma’am.” She didn’t quite salute, but Paninya did stiffen sharply at the question. 

Major General Armstrong stared down her nose at Paninya for a few long seconds. Snorting, she said, “All right. I’ll leave you both to it. As soon as my brother comes in, I’ll send him to you.” She pointed toward a door. “That’s a bathroom, in case you need it.” Spinning on her heel, she walked toward the door. “Rest up,” she said, “you’ll probably need it.” 

“Wait, Major General!” Alphonse reached out a bony hand to her. “What happened? Colonel Mustang…is he…?”

He caught a glimpse of Major General Armstrong’s profile. “Yes,” she said. “Mustang’s dead.” 

Even though he’d suspected, Alphonse couldn’t help but slump back into the bed, letting out a soft gasp of protest. 

“I cannot tell you anything more, Alphonse. I don’t know anything more.” Armstrong sighed, bowing her head so her hair slithered over her shoulder, blocking her even more from view. Suddenly she straightened again, a glint of sapphire blue eye stabbing at him. “With him out of the way, it makes it that much easier for me to become fuhrer.” Without waiting for Alphonse’s reaction, she strode out of the room, her boots tapping down the hallway. 

Paninya sank down next to the footboard of Alphonse’s bed. “So, he was your friend?” She twisted around, folding her legs tailor-fashion. “That man who died?”

“Ed would say he was a bastard,” Alphonse said, too tired even to cry. “But he always treated me well. He was Ed’s commanding officer. He was there…he fought during the Promised Day.”

Leaning against the footboard, Paninya asked, “What’s that?” 

How to tell her? What should he tell her? Well, she was already used to some of the weirdness, right? “Did Winry ever tell you about why I was in a suit of armor?”

Paninya shrugged. “I thought it was a full suit prosthesis. I didn’t expect to see,” she waved a hand at him. “You looking like this.”

“That’s because I wasn’t a live body inside the suit. I was just a soul, attached to the suit.” 

Blinking a few times, Paninya asked, “What?” 

Alphonse gave her a weak smile. “It’s a long story. I’m not sure if I’m up for it, but I’ll do my best.” 

X X X


	9. Chapter Eight:  Can't Stand the Rain

  
**Chapter Eight: Can’t Stand the Rain**   
_I can’t stand the rain ‘gainst my window,  
Bringing back sweet memories. _   
**The Commitments, I Can’t Stand the Rain**   


The apartment was dark when Riza unlocked the door. She saw a pair of glowing eyes, but they no longer gave her any pause. Selim Bradley – Pride – was gone, or at least no longer a threat, and not likely to be lurking in her shadows any more. It didn’t mean the thin scar on her right cheek didn’t sting in a sudden, sharp flare, but Riza ignored it, knowing those eyes belonged to her dog. 

Black Hayate greeted her, his tail wagging slowly, his head cocked to the left. He let out a questioning whine as Riza managed to get the door closed and locked. She slid down the wall, her butt landing on the floor, her legs sprawled to either side. Black Hayate came up between her legs, putting a cautious paw on her thigh. Sweeping him up into a hug, Riza buried her face against his clean fur, finally letting loose the tears she’d held in since she’d walked away from the hospital grounds. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Something had gone wrong – something had gone terribly wrong. She couldn’t believe Roy would’ve caused that transmutation, one big enough to take out the men holding him captive. He would’ve shared that information – she would’ve known if he was going to do something that – shaking her head fiercely, Riza tried to tell herself it couldn’t be true, but she knew better than anyone else how flame alchemy worked. Those bodies belonged to men who wouldn’t be coming back from the dead, not like Maria Ross. 

Riza had known for years that Roy could die – that either of them could be killed at any point in their lives. They were soldiers, after all; and Roy had detractors who’d wanted him, if not dead, at least out of the way. His mercurial climb in the ranks had not gone unnoticed. And then there’d been the scarred Ishbalan, who’d tried to wreak vengeance against all State Alchemists, decimating their ranks. Roy could’ve been killed by him, Major Armstrong and Edward, too, though they’d managed to survive their various encounters with Scar. In the end, Scar had swung to their side, helping Edward and her talk Roy out of destroying the homunculus known as Envy. 

Shuddering, Riza tried not to think about the past, but she couldn’t help it. Roy’s smirk was painted on the inside of her eyelids, his low chuckle kept sounding in her ears. Riza sobbed, not wanting to think she’d never hear that chuckle again in life. Was this how he’d felt, knowing Brigadier General Hughes was dead? That he’d never talk about how wonderful his little girl was? Never tease Roy about needing a wife? Riza doubled over, letting Black Hayate go so she could gasp for air. 

Her dog leaned against her, rubbing his shoulder against her upper arm, licking her wet cheek repeatedly. Riza couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t tell him she’d be all right. She wasn’t sure she would be. So much of her life had been tied up to Roy’s, now she felt like a balloon with a broken string, tossed every which way by the wind. Roy said he’d made a deal, that they’d all be safe, no matter what, but Riza wondered how true that would be, considering the circumstances. 

“Oh, god,” she whispered, tearing her fingers through her hair. Havoc was still confined to his chair, though Dr. Marcoh had started his rehabilitative healing and therapy. If someone came after him, would he be able to protect himself? She wondered if she should call Breda, have him check in on Havoc, keep an eye on him. Or would it matter? With Roy being dead, would anyone come after them? 

Black Hayate stiffened against her, letting out a growl so low, Riza felt rather than heard it. She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly on her sleeve and blinking away the remaining tears. Reaching for the pistol holstered in the small of her back, she gathered her feet under her to rise. The other hand gun was empty of bullets, fired at the hospital at Roy’s command. Nearly choking on his name, even though she just thought it, Riza forced herself under control. The colonel had given her his last order, and she intended to follow through. 

Motioning Black Hayate to sit, Riza thumbed the safety of her pistol off. She pushed to her feet, using the wall behind her back as a bolster. Tilting her head, she held her breath – the better to listen to whatever alerted Black Hayate. Her neighbors were often loud and drunk, though tonight, everything seemed quiet. She wondered if they were listening to the radio, if they’d heard the news. If they’d want to ask her questions about it the next time she saw them. If they, like so many other people in Central City, might be celebrating Roy’s death with a bottle or two of beer. 

A soft ‘thud’ in the hallway made her spine stiffen. Next to her calves, Black Hayate lowered his head, his ears flicking back, then forward. Outside, in the hall, someone was trying to be quiet. Holding her breath, Riza started counting backward from one hundred; a trick her grandfather had taught her to keep her cool. 

Still, the knock on the door made her flinch in reaction. Easing closer to it, Riza lowered her voice. “Who is it?”

“Ed,” he answered, “and a friend.” 

Riza didn’t reengage the safety yet. She had to open the door to make sure of her visitors – no spyholes in the apartment doors - catching a whiff of smoke and something more noxious. Edward’s face glowed and a couple of blisters showed on his sooty skin. Blood smeared across his cheeks and forehead. Winry seemed to be holding him upright, even though her countenance showed her own exhaustion. Stepping aside to allow them into her apartment, Riza closed and locked the door behind them after they’d entered. 

Edward coughed into his fist. “Didn’t know where else to go,” he choked. 

Black Hayate whined, wagging his tail at their visitors as Riza said automatically, “You’re welcome here.” She didn’t like the way Winry peered at her, with such a worried expression, and forced a smile. “Come in and sit down.” Slipping her gun back into its holster, Riza led them to the tiny dining area, waving them into the chairs. “I’ll make some tea.”

If not for the strangeness of it all, Riza could almost pretend this was a social call. Then she’d catch a glimpse of Edward out of the corner of her eye; his clothes pocked from cinders and ash. And Winry looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and too-pale skin. That had to be the result of something happening prior to her arrival in Central City, Riza thought as she rummaged through the cupboard. Finally, finding some cookies that weren’t stale, she set them on the table between the two kids.

Winry sat stiffly, staring at her hands, with her fingers twined together. Edward had laid most of his upper body on the table, his eyes closed, almost as if he slept. He asked, “How can you stand it, First Lieutenant?” 

“Ed!” Winry breathed.

Riza nodded, having half-expected the question, or one similar. “I have my orders,” she said, finding some teabags in a tin as the kettle on the stove started to whistle. 

“Orders?” Peeling himself up off the table, Edward focused on her. 

“Yes. Some of them pertain to you and your brother.” Riza gestured at Winry. “Had we been aware you would come to Central, rather than the brothers go to you, arrangements would’ve been made for you, as well.”

“Arrangements?” Winry asked, sounding shrill. 

Riza busied herself with a teapot while she answered. “It was always Colonel Mustang’s plan to make sure Edward and Alphonse left Central City safely.” She poured the hot water over the teabags, releasing sweetly-scented steam before she placed the lid on the pot. Keeping her voice steady, she asked, “Do you still have your resignation papers, Edward?”

He sighed, taking a cookie, but not eating it, just turning it in his fingers. “I left the file at the hospital.” 

Her mouth twitched. “I’m sure Alphonse’s room will be searched.” She had duplicates, of course; Roy had made sure of it, but they’d be considered suspect once the file was located at the hospital. “Did Major Armstrong meet up with you?”

“Yeah…wait, you knew about that?” Clenching the cookie in his hand, Edward turned it into crumbs. 

“I said arrangements had been made. There was no way for Dr. Marcoh to come to Alphonse in the hospital, so Major Armstrong was supposed to transport both you boys to someplace where no one would expect you to be.” 

“Where is that?” Winry asked, when Edward didn’t say anything.

Riza set the teapot on the table, along with some cups and spoons. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any cream,” she offered, and Edward nodded, fighting a yawn that turned into a cough. “They were supposed to go to Dr. Knox’s house. It’s a safe place, and no one would suspect them being there.” She poured tea into the cups, not even waiting to put sugar in hers before sipping. The warm, slightly bitter liquid steadied her. “Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.”

“They sure as hell didn’t,” Edward said, almost in a growl. 

“No.” Riza fought to keep her tears back.

“So, what now?” Winry looked from Edward to Riza. 

“We will regroup,” Riza said. 

“So, Al’s with Dr. Knox?” Edward rubbed his chin, smearing some cookie crumbs on his face. 

“Maybe.” Riza set down her cup, spreading her hands. “Since Major Armstrong got involved after Colonel Mustang’s death, I am unsure where Alphonse is.” 

“You have a way to reach Major Armstrong, though, right?” Edward searched her eyes. 

“I do, but not tonight.” 

“But,” Edward started to say more, leaning across the table.

“Ed.” Winry touched his shoulder, and he sank mostly back into his chair, giving her a narrow-eyed glance. “Al’s okay. We have to think that. And there’s been enough today.”

“Winry,” Edward said, packing a lot of emotion into her name. 

“If Miss Riza says not tonight, then we have to wait.” She said it firmly enough that Edward fell back into his seat with an irritated sigh. 

“Fine, we’ll wait.” 

Winry sighed, too, turning to Riza. “If it’s all right with you, can we spend the night here?”

She blinked, surprised that Winry asked, and nodded. “Of course. My bed’s big enough, you and I can share it, and Edward can have the couch. You can borrow some of my clothes to wear, if you want.” 

“Thanks.” Winry’s relief was obvious. 

“I can transmute mine clean, I just need a piece of paper and a pen,” Edward offered. “And someone to hold the paper while I draw.” He fixed Winry with a steady gaze, and bobbed his head slightly when her mouth quirked. 

“I can do that,” she said. 

Riza reined in her need to mourn, tamping it down, not looking at either of them for a second. She concentrated on her tea, taking another drink of the bitter liquid. 

“This isn’t too much trouble, is it, First Lieutenant?”

Edward’s question made Riza start. His intense gaze bored into her, as if he could read all the secrets she hid within herself. Riza didn’t want to gulp out an answer; wanted to stay steady. “No, Edward. I said you and Winry were welcome here. I meant it.”

The faint downturn of his mouth said he didn’t believe her, but Edward nodded jerkily. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a way that could break her heart if she let it. He rubbed his hand over his hair, the moment lost. “Winry and I could use a shower. Well, I know I could.” He slanted a look toward the young woman, who nodded. “Is that okay, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll get out some washcloths and towels.” Riza got to her feet before they could stop her, needing to escape, if only for a few seconds, the pity she thought she saw in their eyes. 

X X X 

Outside, thunder grumbled, a prelude to a spectacular storm that rivaled the one going on inside of Frank Archer’s office. The reports had been filtering in from afternoon through evening of the events at the hospital. Archer listened to every news show he could, having his adjutant provide him information on those he missed. He read the preliminary reports from the soldiers who had been at the hospital when the explosion happened, and made notes in the margins of what he should ask when he spoke to these men directly. 

There had been too many deaths, and Archer thought Kimblee’d had a hand in extending the collateral damage. The idea that Colonel Mustang would’ve attacked the hospital providing care to both his men and him seemed ludicrous, though Archer thought that all alchemists had a streak of insanity running through them. Kimblee definitely included. Archer wasn’t sure if he could keep the man on a short leash, especially after today. He’d given Kimblee some leniency to act, and look what happened. Six soldiers were dead, including Mustang, and civilians were hurt in the building where they were supposed to be recuperating. 

And Kimblee was walking around on the streets with a free pass at the moment. 

Archer drummed his fingers on his desktop. Kimblee’s personal agenda made him a problem; his alchemy made him a threat. He’d read up on the Crimson Lotus Alchemist after Kimblee’d dropped into his life, and realized just what kind of tiger he had by the tail. There were so many problems in dealing with this man, and Archer was sure he didn’t want to be the one trying to rein him in. Unfortunately, he knew he’d need to, otherwise his own bid for the candidacy for fuhrer could also be threatened by his acquaintanceship with Kimblee. 

Sighing, Archer twined his fingers together, leaning his hands against his chin. The question would be how to nullify Kimblee without losing enough men to have anyone take notice. And, considering Kimblee’s alchemy, and his violent tendencies, that could prove far more difficult than expected. A sniper might be able to do it, but there were questions regarding that, too; who could he trust? Could he actually trust anyone in Central City? And, despite soldiers being trained to follow orders, people were people, and often had their own agendas. 

If Mustang hadn’t been killed, he might’ve been a help. Archer pulled his file out, opening it again. He studied the information on Mustang’s command. Except for Edward Elric, they’d all been hand-picked from Grumman’s command. Mustang had started out with the same five people, and four of them were still in the military, and three had been under Mustang’s command up until this afternoon. And one, Archer pulled out a particular sheet of paper, was a sniper. 

He studied the information sheet on First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and nodded to himself. Maybe there was a way to make this work out yet. 

Closing the file, Archer tucked it into his briefcase. It was definitely time to go home for the night, and let everything settle. And then, he’d contact Lieutenant Hawkeye, feel her out for a possible transfer into his staff. 

Yes, that might just do. 

Getting to his feet, Archer slung his briefcase over his shoulder, heading out of his office. Pausing in the antechamber, he nodded to his adjutant. “Captain, I’m leaving for the evening.” 

“Would you want a car, sir?” Williams glanced toward the window, suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning. 

“Yes, thank you, Williams. And you should go home, too.” 

He needed a whiskey with his supper tonight, and there had to be a place to find one here in town. 

X X X 

The Major General was as good as her word, sending up food and some actual clothes for Alphonse. Paninya didn’t tell him how cute he was, fussing over what had been provided – “Don’t they have anything for normal-sized people?” He’d made a face at the food, too. Paninya’d been served a sandwich and soup, while he was offered bread sopped in broth and a glass of milk. 

When he tried to complain about that, the man who’d brought the tray of food just raised his eyebrows and said, “Olivier Milla Armstrong is the head of the household. What she requests is my duty. If you do not approve of your meal, you have my permission to take it up with her, however, I will not be providing you with any alternatives unless Major General Armstrong agrees.” 

Alphonse scowled at the bread and broth, finally saying, “Tell her thank you, sir,” and folded his fingers around his spoon so he could eat. The eyeing he gave Paninya’s sandwich, though, almost made her want to eat in the next room. 

Meals finally over, and Alphonse exhausted, Paninya made her excuses to go to bed herself. She yawned broadly, stretching her arms and rolling her back. “It’s late.” And she’d been on a train for the past three days, and had to watch an explosion where people died, and run away from friends. She didn’t want to think about where Winry and Edward were. Safe. They’d better be safe. Then there was everything Alphonse had said, about being a suit of armor for years. Her head hurt from everything. “I should go to my bed.”

“Can’t you stay?” Alphonse slurred, his head wobbling slightly. “My bed’s big enough.”

Paninya remembered the stern expression on the Major General’s face and shuddered. “I don’t think the scary woman would like that!” Her glare was scarier than Mr. Dominic’s. Thinking of him made her stomach hurt. 

“What is it?” 

Biting her lip, she raised her head, meeting Alphonse’s eyes. “You notice too much.” 

“Come on, Paninya, tell me,” he wheedled. “You look sad.” 

Paninya puffed out her cheeks. “I’m worried about Winry.” There, that’d send him off on a different track. 

His face pinching up, Alphonse said, “She’ll be okay. She’s with Ed.” 

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Paninya glanced across the room at the automail case. “The last I saw, Winry was on the floor with Ed next to her.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said that to Alphonse, but it was true. “Ed said he’d take care of her.” 

“He will, too.” Alphonse said it like there was absolutely no doubt. “I don’t know if I should tell you.” Leaning toward her a little, he lowered his voice. “I think he loves her.” 

“That’d make Garfiel happy.” Paninya grinned, imagining his reaction. 

Alphonse shifted in the bed, stretching out his bony legs. “We fought over her when we were kids, and I beat him, but I think he won anyway.” 

“Do you love her, too?” 

He turned his attention to her, and Paninya wondered why her mouth went dry. “She’s like my sister.” 

“Oh.” Paninya ducked her head, hoping that she wasn’t grinning too broadly. “Okay.”

“Paninya,” Alphonse said, and she peeped at him from the corner of her eye, wondering if he was actually blushing. 

The door opened with a crash, and someone bellowed, “Alphonse Elric!” Paninya nearly fell off the bed, shying backward, and Alphonse squeaked in shock, clutching his chest as Major Armstrong came through the doorway. “I am so happy you are here in my home!” 

Panting, Alphonse tried to right himself as Paninya sat up again. “M-Major Armstrong.” Hopeful, he asked, “Are Ed and Winry with you?”

The large man’s face fell as he pulled up a chair, sitting beside the bed. “No. I am sorry. I did not find them. But I have been listening to the news, and there has been no mention of them in any way.” 

“No news is good news,” Paninya offered tentatively, getting the major’s attention. 

He brightened immediately. “You are correct, young lady!” 

Alphonse clenched the sheets, his eyes starting to water. “So you don’t know where they are?” Sniffing, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Damn it!”

“Here, Alphonse.” Major Armstrong handed him a handkerchief. “You have had many traumatic experiences over just a handful of days. Your emotions are out of control right now. It is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Alphonse swiped the handkerchief across his face and blew his nose. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just…”

“I understand.” His hand spreading almost all the way across Alphonse’s skinny shoulders, Major Armstrong gave him a gentle pat. “I apologize that I do not have any additional information about the location of your brother and Miss Rockbell. I do believe them to be safe, even if I have nothing more concrete than a general feeling.” 

Shoulders heaving, Alphonse said, “But Paninya said Winry was hurt!”

She knew she shouldn’t have said it, but Major Armstrong held his palm up, his blue eyes narrowing. “Alphonse Elric, you do have faith in your brother, am I correct?”

“Well,” Alphonse blinked, a tear running down his cheek. His expression cleared a little, like the sun peeping through clouds. “Yes,” he said finally, but it didn’t sound quite as determined as Paninya expected. 

“Then we must trust he and Miss Rockbell will be all right.” Major Armstrong’s moustache twitched. “And you both should be going to sleep, in your own beds.”

Paninya ducked her head, feeling heat on her cheeks. Had he heard that? Rubbing the back of her neck, she climbed off the bed. “Yes, sir!” She picked up her suitcase and the automail case, both. “Good night, Major. Thanks again for letting us stay here. Good night, Al.” 

“Night, Paninya,” Alphonse said softly. 

“Good night, Miss Paninya.” Major Armstrong rose from his chair to escort Paninya out of Alphonse’s room. “Pleasant dreams, Alphonse Elric.” 

“You, too, Major,” Alphonse yawned in response.

She glanced back under his beefy arm to see Alphonse sliding down into the bed. As if he’d been waiting for her to look, he winked. Paninya froze – had she actually seen that? What did Alphonse mean, winking at her? Or had he been closing his eyes? 

“Miss Paninya?” 

She jerked upright, a huge grin plastered across her face. “Sorry!” Hurrying into her room, she set down the cases. “I was,” with a shake of her head, Paninya went on, “I was thinking. Good night, Major.”

“Do not worry, Miss Paninya. I will endeavor to locate Edward Elric and Miss Rockbell throughout the night.” He all but clicked his heels together. “You will see, they will both be fine.”

“Thanks,” Paninya said, wondering from the furrows in his brow, which of them he was trying to convince. “Good night, sir.” She nodded one last time before closing the door between them. 

X X X 

The boom of thunder jerked Edward awake, knocking him halfway off the couch from the shock of it. His heart thudded against his ribs, a counterpoint to the rain he could hear lashing the windowpanes of the little apartment. With a soft groan, he swung his legs off the couch. He set his feet on the floor and burrowed his fingers in his hair, still feeling lopsided from the lack of his right arm. The thunder grumbled more softly, leaving Edward to his thoughts. 

If there was a way to thank the storm, he might have. Edward couldn’t remember everything about the nightmare the thunder had woken him out of, but what he could recall made him nauseous. Something about Pride, and how he’d forced his own way into the homunculus to beat it inside of its own body. Edward dropped his hand to his right shoulder, rubbing it as thunder grumbled outside the apartment, making the building shudder. 

Storms made his ports ache, and none as worse as when he was without an automail limb. His shoulder throbbed, keeping time with his heart, a thunder of pain contained within his body. His leg port pulsed along his shoulder, letting Edward know just how bad a storm it had to be. He’d been too exhausted, physically and otherwise, to pay attention to the warning twinges earlier; not that there was much he could do about the actual weather. Preparing for it, that would’ve been good. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. 

Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark room despite the pulled curtains, highlighting a pale figure sitting in a hard, wooden chair pulled from the dining table. Holding the curtain back, she faced the window and the rain shattering against the glass. Edward’s heart beat faster until he recognized her. 

“Winry, what are you doing?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She turned, as slow as if she moved underwater, a frown creasing her forehead before the flash of lightning faded. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you okay?” Of course she wasn’t, no more okay than he was, with the news she’d given and what they’d witnessed today. A draft from somewhere strolled down Edward’s spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. He could just see Winry’s bangs flutter from the breeze blowing through badly-caulked window frame. It hurt to even look at her, pale as a ghost, slumped in despair. 

Winry shrugged, spreading her hands. “I didn’t want to wake Miss Riza, so I came out here.” She tilted her head. “Did I wake you?”

Edward waved her off. “No, the storm.” He grimaced, hunching his right shoulder. 

“Your ports.” Winry stood up, the lightning strobing around her so her movements seemed unreal. Edward blinked a couple of times, surprised to find her in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. “You’re cold, too.” She squeezed her hands, and made a face. “And you’re nothing but knots.” Sitting next to him, she made him face away from her, digging her thumbs into the muscles around the shoulder port. 

Pain shot through his body, a lightning bolt erupting from the pressure she put near the port. Edward hissed, “Damn it, Winry!”

“Shh,” she snapped, “Miss Riza’s trying to sleep.”

“She’s not sleeping, either?” He craned his neck, trying to look at Winry over his shoulder. 

Winry pushed his cheek so he was facing forward. “Stop moving.” Once she was sure he wasn’t going to turn back around, she started massaging around the port again. “Since we’re not sleeping, maybe she isn’t.” Her fingers probed a sore spot, making Edward wince, not realizing he’d grunted until she hushed him. “Your back is a wreck. How are you even walking?” 

“Do you really want an answer?” he growled, trying to ignore the warmth of Winry’s breath on the back of his neck. She smelled good, too, too good, even with the pain she inflicted on him. His penis twitched, and Edward bit his lip, mentally reciting the table of elements. He did not want to explain to Winry why his stupid dick was acting up. 

Concentrating on keeping his body under control, Edward nearly forgot that he’d asked her a question by the time Winry said, “No.” She kept prodding and poking and rubbing, making him uncomfortable enough it helped him master his stupid involuntary reactions. Finally, Winry smoothed her palms up his neck and back down, resting them on his shoulders. “That’s the best I can do for now. I should probably put you on the floor and do your legs, too.” 

Edward grimaced, shaking his head, not wanting to put any pressure on his groin area. Not wanting Winry anywhere near that part of his body, well, not right now. Certainly not in First Lieutenant Hawkeye’s apartment. “I’m in enough pain, thanks.” 

“Hmph!” Winry patted his shoulders before getting to her feet. “You should get some sleep.” 

He twisted, looking up at her, blinking as lightning flared outside the windows. The word escaped him without him even thinking about it. “Stay.” Edward raised his hand, nearly dropping it back into his lap, then resting it against the curve of her hip. “Please.” Warm, she was so warm under his palm. 

Winry tilted her head, hair slithering over her shoulder. “Ed?” 

“You can take the couch. I’ll sleep on the floor.” It was better than some of the places he’d slept before. 

Taking a deep breath, Winry said, “Scoot over, Ed. There’s enough room for both of us.” 

Edward hesitated, then shifted his weight, making room for Winry. She sat down next to him, patting his leg, the sensation of her hand on his thigh sending a thrill right up into his groin. Maybe this was a really bad idea. He couldn’t take it back, though, not with Winry sitting next to him. She shifted her weight, looking at him over her shoulder. 

Edward couldn’t resist her warmth, leaning closer. He didn’t know when his hand moved up to touch her cheek, couldn’t remember whose mouth touched whose first. Winry’s mouth was hotter than the rest of her, her lips chapped, and tasting faintly of tea and cookies. “Hnnnn,” Edward moaned, pulling back so he could take a breath. 

Winry leaned her forehead against his cheek, panting softly. “Ed, I,” she let her voice trail off. 

Edward looped a strand of hair back behind her ear. No earrings, he needed to give them back to her. Where’d he left them? Damn it, were they still at the hospital? If he’d lost them – fuck! 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing,” he mumbled gruffly. Maybe she wouldn’t notice he didn’t have her earrings any more. Yeah, like that would happen. She’d ask, eventually, and he’d have to tell her, unless he could figure out a way to replace them. “We’d better try and get some sleep.” 

“Okay.” Winry started to turn away from him, but Edward caught hold of her chin, holding her in place so he could give her another kiss. “What’s that for?” 

“Just,” Edward sighed. “Because, okay?” Because he really couldn’t say why he’d kissed her, just that he wanted to, he needed to. And hopefully, his stupid dick wouldn’t betray him during the night. 

Winry lay down at the edge of the couch, with Edward fitting himself in behind her. Her butt pressed against his groin, and he bit back a moan. This was a fucking stupid idea, he thought, even as he nuzzled the back of her neck. Winry shivered, and he felt it all the way along her body. “Winry,” he muttered softly. 

She squirmed around so she was facing him, her eyes searching his face. Lightning struck somewhere in town, the brightness illuminating the room even through the closed curtain. Winry touched his cheek, her hand hot against his skin, her fingers moving up to touch the piece of sticking plaster she’d used to bandage his forehead. 

“Hnn,” Edward grunted, his skull bouncing off the back of the couch. 

“Easy,” Winry whispered before kissing him. Her tongue brushed over the seam of his mouth, and he opened it for her. Fuck, he wished he had both hands. Shifting his weight, Edward managed to wriggle his arm free, barely disturbing Winry’s mouth from his. He pushed his hips up against hers. Winry broke the kiss to snicker. 

“What?” 

“You.” Grinning, she rubbed his stomach, making the skin beneath the shirt quiver. Her hand kept sliding down his body.

Edward closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep from moaning out loud. Her hand moved over his dick through the cotton of his boxers, and his hips pumped in reaction. “Fuck, Winry,” he breathed. He kissed her, hard, so their teeth clicked together. Winry squeezed his shaft, and Edward grunted in her mouth. He managed to wrap his arm around her waist, making her shift with him as he wriggled, so he was on top of her. Winry’s knees came up, cradling his hips, and Edward brushed the hair out of her face. He mumbled her name and kissed her again. 

This wasn’t any better than Briggs, maybe even worse. First Lieutenant Hawkeye was in the next room, instead of Alphonse. She’d hear any noise they made. The storm outside might cover up some of it, but not much. No matter how he considered it logically, though, his dick was pressed up against Winry, despite the layers of clothes between them, and the sensations ran through his body like an electric current. Edward kissed her softly, even though his body screamed at him to move, move, thrust and shove and find some sort of release. Winry stared up at him through the kiss, running her hands up and down his ribs, stalling on his hips. Her hands swept in, resting lightly on the upper part of his butt. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Edward whispered, “I want you.” 

Winry kissed him, and her hands moved down to squeeze his butt. Edward squeaked, his groin bumping hard into hers. A flash of lightning lit up her mischievous smile. “I want you, too.” Her nipples poked up through her nightshirt. Edward gave in to temptation, and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing that nipple between his fingers. Her back arched, and Edward grinned at her breathless whine. He rubbed his crotch between her open legs. Winry gasped, her eyes fluttering closed. Edward kissed her again, moaning into her mouth when she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. 

Breathing hard, Edward closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Winry’s neck. He remembered the smear of blood he’d left behind when he’d done this earlier, at the hospital. Damn, the hospital. His throat closed, and he gasped hard, wriggling free of Winry’s embrace. 

“What is it?” She sat up, laying a hand on his armless shoulder. 

Edward shuddered. “This…this isn’t right, Winry.” His erection flagged, completely gone. “I’m sorry.” Ducking his head, he glanced at her through his bangs, but couldn’t look at her face on. “I don’t…I can’t, Winry. Sorry.” Exhaling through his nose, he leaned back into the couch, covering his face with his hand. His one, fucking hand. He laughed, sharp and low into his palm. 

He wished he had his automail arm – lying on his right side without it hurt in a particularly bone-numbing way. He remembered Pinako telling him he was crazy – the nerves were all inside the port – but Edward still couldn’t sleep on his right side without the arm. He could still hear the old hag cackling at him. How the hell could she not have woken back up? Where’d her soul go, anyway? Why didn’t it go back into her body, like everyone else’s? Pinako was too stubborn to let her soul leave her body. How did it escape? Why the hell had Mustang started that fire? 

His breath hitched. 

Winry leaned farther, peering up into his face. “Are you crying?” 

Edward wanted to say ‘no’, but his throat clogged, his eyes burned, and he could feel his voice box bobbing in his throat. Pressing her forehead against his, Winry wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. This wasn’t supposed to happen – he was supposed to comfort her, not the other way around. He tried to get his control back, but with the rain, and the throbbing in his ports, and thinking about Pinako, and Mustang, he couldn’t help it. Letting out a sob, he buried his face into the crook of her neck. 

X X X

The summer storm raged on outside the window. By now, any flames left over from the hospital explosion would have been extinguished by the downpour. Kimblee sighed, tapping his pen on the notepad on the desk. At the tip of the pen bloomed an illustration, a scene from his youth, and Ishbal, with the Flame Alchemist snapping his fingers and wreaking havoc. 

Setting down the pen, Kimblee drywashed his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly at the pain in his knuckles. Why would he have arthritis now? This body should be self-sufficient, instantly healing. Perhaps he needed to refuel it. Something to consider. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out in front of him, hearing his knuckles pop. The drawing caught his attention again, and Kimblee turned the note book around, thinking the drawing would’ve been better had the pages not had lines. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he hadn’t bought an artpad, but a notepad. 

Kimblee reached for his pen, adding some hash lines to the smoke clouds, making them darker. He eyed Flame’s portrait, thinking it wasn’t a bad likeness, though he could probably do better. He wished he’d had a better look at Mustang’s gloves. Flame alchemy intrigued him, but he could find no records of the research that went into mastering fire. 

Though he was primarily trained in alchemic explosions, there was something to be said for a good fire, and the way it could humble, or even destroy, a group of people. Or even an entire civilization. There were stories of old, great cities eaten by flames, the inhabitants driven out or roasted, depending on the tales or the teller. Today’s fire had done just that, in his eyes. Too bad he hadn’t had a chance to speak to Flame beforehand, but, sometimes, even with the best laid plans, not everything happened accordingly. It would have been exquisite to let Flame know that he was the one who’d orchestrated his death. 

Too bad it had come too soon. Kimblee frowned, thinking of the shooter who had taken Flame’s life. The man should have suffered more, not been allowed the release of a bullet. He had his guesses as to the shooter’s identity, well, one guess that he figured had to be fairly accurate. Since she’d taken his target away, he’d have to focus his attention on her. But that would have to wait. Riza Hawkeye was of less importance than the State Alchemists who’d participated in the Promised Day. 

Still, even though she’d thwarted part of his enjoyment of the fire yesterday, there were other bonuses Kimblee could appreciate. Edward Elric’s reaction to the explosion was one he cherished. It wasn’t quite as delectable as how the Flame Alchemist might’ve responded, but still, it was lovely, seeing the impotent rage and the horror stamped across Fullmetal’s young face. 

Kimblee doodled Edward’s face at the bottom of the notepad, twisted in fury, as he thought about the rumors he’d heard concerning Mustang and his youngest subordinate. Perhaps those office tales were a matter of wishful thinking on the behalf of the original teller. It couldn’t be said that the Fullmetal Alchemist wasn’t attractive, and Kimblee could understand why someone might fantasize about him, but Fullmetal himself seemed altogether too charmed by his lovely mechanic to be interested in an old man like Mustang. 

_Old man? Aren’t you older than the Flame Alchemist?_

Pride’s spiteful question rose up in his mind, as if he’d thought it himself. Kimblee smiled, willing to play along with the homunculus, or what remained of it, living within him. “And you are older than all three of us together, multiplied many times.” He allowed Pride to have a glimpse of the area they were in – a richly appointed room, with flocked wallpaper, a washstand in the corner, near the closet door, a dresser with a mirror, the desk he was drawing at, and a four-poster bed, with posts carved out of a dense wood, so rich and dark, it looked like coal. The bedding was equally sumptuous, in a red that reminded him again of Fullmetal, and Mustang’s dancing flames. 

_Where are we?_

“Someplace entertaining, someplace that would be comfortable to pass the night.” Kimblee turned his attention back to the dainty teacup sitting above the blotter on the desk. He picked it up, inhaling the delicate fragrance of the tea. Inside him, Pride shuddered at the taste he allowed the homunculus. “A discerning man would appreciate it, Pride,” Kimblee said. 

_As you pointed out, I’m not a man, I’m a memory._

“So bitter.” Kimblee took another sip of his tea. “Maybe you need some sugar, too, to sweeten you up.” 

The ‘sound’ Pride made rumbled through Kimblee’s body. He ignored it, hearing something he’d been listening for, and got up to answer the door. A pretty young woman stood there, with long, blond hair and blue eyes that appeared guileless, though, beneath that apparent honestly lurked a harder sheen. Still, she ducked her head and offered a slightly bashful smile. 

The likeness wasn’t uncanny, but good enough. Kimblee smiled at her, offering her his hand. “Good evening, Winry,” he said, and ushered the young woman he’d hired for the evening’s entertainment into his room. 

X X X


	10. Chapter Nine:  Hanging Round

  
**Chapter Nine: Hanging Round**   
_What am I doing hanging round?  
I should be on that train and gone._   
**The Monkees, Hanging Round**   


Outside, Riza could hear the patter of rain still coming down. She had no doubt the poorer streets of Central would be flooded; her own street would have standing water, too. It would be a good day to hunker up with a cup of tea, a blanket, and a romance novel. Any other day, she might consider it. Any other day, though, was not like today. Right now, Riza thought a sunny day would be a betrayal. 

Black Hayate whined, catching her attention, and Riza petted his head, rubbing the base of one of his ears to make him lean into her caress. Riza hadn’t been asleep when Winry had left the bedroom last night. It hadn’t surprised her that the younger woman hadn’t come back. She’d heard Edward and Winry talking, and what they’d started doing, but were unable to finish – the walls in her apartment were that thin. She didn’t blame them for taking comfort in each other. She’d invited Black Hayate on the bed, when it became obvious Winry wasn’t returning, and soaked her dog’s coat in her own tears. 

Her wandering eyes caught sight of the toolkit Winry’d left in her room. Riza’s breath snared in her throat. That innocent, innocuous thing in her bedroom made it even more real, forced the proof on her that she didn’t really want to leave her room and face. Choking back another sob, Riza fought back her tears. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – allow herself to grieve, not right now. There were two teenagers looking to her for answers as to the whereabouts of Alphonse Elric. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Riza inhaled deeply through her mouth, forcing herself into the same calm state she had to have when firing a gun. 

Forcing herself out of her bed, Riza dressed. Black Hayate watched her from the bed, his curly tail waving slowly. He wanted a walk, and, regardless of the rain, he’d get one. If Edward weren’t so recognizeable with that missing arm, Riza would have sent him out, but Black Hayate was her dog, and her responsibility. Maybe she could convince the kids to make some sort of breakfast while she took Black Hayate on a walk to the telephone booth a couple of blocks away to make some calls she couldn’t make from her own apartment. 

When she left her bedroom, Riza wasn’t surprised to see Edward and Winry, sharing the couch. What did startle her was that they were still asleep. So much for breakfast being ready when she returned. With a wry smile, Riza clipped a leash to Black Hayate’s collar, leaving a note behind on the bathroom sink to let them know she’d gone out. Adjusting the back holster for her pistol, she slipped a raincoat over the top to hide it. 

The streets were as bad as she’d expected, which made it both better and worse. Riza chirruped at Black Hayate when he hesitated at the rain still falling. “You need to go,” she told him. With a sigh that sounded almost as long-suffering as one Havoc would make, Black Hayate stepped out from under the apartment building’s awning. There weren’t many people out in this weather; less eyes to see her walking her dog. If nothing else, Black Hayate gave her an excellent excuse to be out, but because the rain kept others inside, she and her dog were that much more noticeable. She didn’t carry an umbrella – she always kept a hand free for her pistol, in case she needed it. A little weather wouldn’t do much more to dampen her spirits, at any rate. 

Black Hayate paused, sniffing at the wet sidewalk, then, his ears drooping, he hopped off the curb, over the water rushing alongside it. He defecated in the road, then minced back over the wet street before jumping back onto the sidewalk with her. “Good boy,” Riza praised, earning a flip of Black Hayate’s ears. He marked a few lampposts as they continued their wet walk. Riza wished she’d thought to wear a head scarf, at least. Rain trickled down the back of her neck and along her spine, tickling the still-sensitive scar tissue on her back. 

The baker opened the door to her shop, letting the warm scent of fresh bread escape into the damp air. Riza thought she’d stop by on her way back to the apartment. She could appreciate the desire to stay in on such a wet day. Shivering as another drop sped down her back, Riza let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the telephone booth. She opened the door, sending Black Hayate inside, and grimacing when he took the drier space as an invitation to shake his thick coat, splattering the entire inside of the booth. “Sit!” 

The dog dropped instantly, then started licking his front paws to dry them off. That would keep him occupied for a bit. Riza reached under her raincoat, pulling out a scrap of paper and dialing the number off of it. The rotary dial clicked softly as it accepted each digit, and, a few seconds later, the connection was made with the ringing on the other end. 

An unfamiliar voice came on the line. “Armstrong residence.” 

“Yes, good morning.” Riza pitched her voice higher than her normal speaking range, adding a chirp to it. “May I speak to Major Armstrong, please?” 

The hesitation barely lasted the tick of a second hand, but Riza heard it, her spine stiffening in reaction. “Whom may I say is calling?” the man on the other end of the line asked. 

Without pausing, Riza answered, “Winry, um, Winry Rockbell, sir!” Winry’s relationship with the Elric brothers wasn’t particularly common knowledge, at least outside Colonel Mustang’s team, but, as Major Armstrong had accompanied Edward and Alphonse to Risembool, he’d obviously been introduced to Winry. 

“One moment, Miss Rockbell.” The line hissed while she waited, and finally, there was a clatter, letting her know someone had picked up the receiver on the other end. 

“Miss Rockbell?” Relief colored the major’s voice. 

“Yes, sir,” Riza chirruped, trusting Armstrong to hear through her vocal disguise. 

“I am glad to hear from you, Miss Rockbell. Are you well?” Something clacked twice on the receiver, the faintly metallic noise letting Riza know that Major Armstrong recognized her. 

“Yes, sir, thank you for asking!” The lie came all too easily. “I was wondering, if it isn’t too much trouble, if we could meet later today? There’s so much I need to tell you.” In case the Armstrong’s telephone lines were tapped, Riza didn’t want to give out too much information. 

“Of course, Miss Rockbell. There’s a little café on Willow Street. Would you like to meet me there for lunch?” 

“That would be wonderful.” ‘Lunch’ was a vague enough term to keep people guessing, and Riza knew there were at least eight cafés on Willow. “Do you think the Brigadier General could join us?”

There was only one Brigadier General whom both Winry and Major Armstrong knew personally, and Riza knew the major was quick enough to get what she was telling him: meet her at Hughes’s grave. 

“I will ask him, Miss Rockbell,” Armstrong said. “Until lunch.” 

“Yes, sir, have a good morning!” She replaced the receiver in its cradle, and leaned down to pet Black Hayate’s wet ears. “I think we have a plan,” she told her dog. Tongue lolling out, Black Hayate rubbed his cheek against her fingers. “Let’s go back home.” Pushing open the door, Riza arranged her raincoat, hoping that it might protect her neck a little bit more this time.

X X X

The sumptuous bedroom made Alphonse feel kind of like he’d woken up in some romantic movie plot. If he was a woman in such a room, he’d half-expect a man to swoop through the door, and loom over the bed, asking solicitous questions while projecting the air of a predator. 

“Geeze,” he muttered to himself, “no wonder Ed hates those kinds of movies.” Twisting slightly on the bed, Alphonse thought the feather mattress might swallow him whole. If he could stay in bed all day, it wouldn’t be a problem, but his bladder had kicked into action, and he needed to use the water closet. The question was, with the size of the room, could he make it across without calling for help? And, even if he did yell, was there anyone around to hear him? 

Well, there was Paninya, but Alphonse squirmed at the idea of asking her to help him to the w.c. It just seemed wrong. Sure, he would’ve asked Winry in a heart beat, but she was different. Yeah, Winry was cute and all, and he’d fought Edward for the right to marry her, but that was back when they were little kids. Now, after watching his brother and Winry, and the way they acted around each other, he knew he really didn’t stand a chance. That was okay, though; Alphonse had noticed there were a lot of other girls out there, just as cute as Winry, and not quite as taken with his brother. 

Edging carefully toward the side of the bed, Alphonse turned sideways, setting his feet on the floor. His legs looked like twigs, barely able to support him. He knew they would, but they’d shake, and that made it hard to walk. His feet sank into the plush rug next to the bed, and Alphonse windmilled his arms, trying to keep his balance. Grabbing the mattress, he held on until he was steady, then reached out for the corner of the bedside table. He could do this, without anyone’s help. 

Using the wall and pieces of furniture to keep his balance, Alphonse tottered across the room, hoping he’d make it to the water closet before he lost control of his bladder. It seemed even farther away now that he was walking than when he was on the bed. Stupid bladder. Stupid Armstrongs, with their huge bodies that needed such monstrous rooms. His bony fingers touched the door frame and Alphonse let out a huff of relief. He made it through the door, made use of the facilities, and rested there for a few minutes before cleaning up. A heavy sigh escaped him as he contemplated walking all the way back to his bed, especially without breakfast. 

A knock startled him, making him grab for the door frame again. “Who is it?” 

“Alex Louis Armstrong, with breakfast,” boomed through the door. 

“Oh, come in, sir!” Alphonse sagged against the wall as the door opened, Major Armstrong bursting through. 

“I hope you are hungry, Alphonse Elric,” he said, a large tray of food balanced on the fingertips of his free hand. The other held the door open. “Miss Dhiri will be eating with you, I presume?”

Alphonse hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Uh,” he said. 

“Have a seat, Alphonse Elric, and I will ask her to breakfast.” Major Armstrong set the tray down on a little table with a flourish, spinning back out of the room. Alphonse gritted his teeth at how easily the major moved. It really sucked, being like this. He didn’t want his armor suit back, no, but having a healthy body that didn’t need to be carried and cosseted would be amazing. 

He’d barely made it halfway over to the table when Paninya and Major Armstrong came through the door. The first thing he noticed was Paninya’s hair was down, and just managed to frame her face, softening it, and making her seem…something he couldn’t quite figure out, but he liked it. She was wearing a robe over her pajamas, and still, Alphonse found himself searching for the curves he knew had to be there. She was looking back at him, he realized, and he really, really hoped the heat he felt on his face wasn’t showing up. “Uh, morning?”

“Hi,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes and managing a sleepy smile that broadened. “Mm, Major Armstrong, breakfast smells so good!”

“I am glad you approve, Miss Dhiri,” Major Armstrong said. He offered Alphonse his elbow to help him to the table, just as he offered Paninya his arm, too. Alphonse ducked his head, hiding his smile at the kindness. They made their way to the table at a pace easy for Alphonse, and Major Armstrong let him sit while he pulled out a second chair for Paninya. Removing the covers from the dishes, Major Armstrong said, “I cooked lighter fare, considering your condition, Alphonse. Dr. Anderson approved of the foods here before you.” 

There was fresh watermelon, and bananas, and soft boiled eggs, with lightly toasted bread. Major Armstrong poured them each a glass of milk, making Alphonse smile again, thinking of how Edward would’ve ranted if he’d been here with them. Paninya spread a napkin over her lap, grinning across the table at Alphonse. Major Armstrong served them each some eggs and fruit, setting a slice of toast on each of their plates. As Alphonse picked up his fork, Major Armstrong turned to him. “I have good news for you, Alphonse. Your brother and Miss Rockbell are safe.”

For a few seconds, Alphonse only heard a ringing in his ears. A stupid, goofy grin had to be spreading across his face. “Really? Where are they? Did they call you? Did you talk to them? When can I see them?” 

Moustache twitching, Major Armstrong said, “Very soon. They are with First Lieutenant Hawkeye, and she will be bringing them here. Additionally, Dr. Anderson will be by later today, to take a look at you.” Giving Alphonse a long once-over, Major Armstrong said, almost to himself, “You could possibly use a good bath.” 

A bath. Oh, the idea sounded absolutely amazing. Alphonse thought he might melt in his chair at the idea of it. Blinking back the tears suddenly blurring his eyes, he said, “Yes, I’d like that,” and had to cough to clear his throat of the sudden emotion threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Are you okay, Al?” Paninya reached across the table, her warm fingers closing gently over his wrist, anchoring him to the here and now. 

Managing a watery smile for her, Alphonse said, “Yeah. After yesterday, everything’s looking so much better.” 

X X X 

Rain without thunder and lightning bored Kimblee. He knew how useful it was, rainfall; he’d studied weather at his master’s insistence, back when he was training to become an alchemist. Without the fireworks, it simply wasn’t distracting enough. He rubbed his chin, staring out the window of his rented room. There were people out there, walking in the rain. A fortunate few carried umbrellas, but those weren’t the ones Kimblee watched. Those people without umbrellas, running along the streets with soggy newspapers, or wet hats over their heads, they caught his attention, making him wonder if they’d paid any attention to the atmospheric conditions of the night before. 

Neither that entertainment, nor the young lady who’d joined him in his room last night, distracted him from the events at the hospital yesterday afternoon. He’d had to beg off to the young woman, though, truly, all he’d wanted from her was an evening of conversation and a lovely meal. As it was, Kimblee had been as charming as he could to ‘Miss Winry’, and sent her on her way, far earlier than he had wanted. 

Riza Hawkeye had spoiled his afternoon’s entertainment, and had to pay for that. Kimblee knew he shouldn’t obsess over it, but it was difficult to keep from mulling it over. He needed to find Edward and Alphonse Elric. They were no longer in the hospital, and had obviously gone to earth somewhere. There were too many places in Central where they could hide out, and there was always their access to the trains entering and leaving the city. 

Making his decision, Kimblee rose to his feet. He needed to get to Central City headquarters and speak to Archer. He couldn’t let the Elric brothers escape. Unlike Scar, they had allies across the eastern part of Amestris, and it would be far easier for them to vanish. 

Though, he had to admit, if only to himself, tracking them would be glorious. 

X X X 

Winry woke to a tongue licking her fingers, muttering, “Cut it out, Den,” and pulled her hand back sharply. Her elbow stabbed into something that gave only a little, letting out a loud, “Oof!” Opening her eyes fully, Winry saw the black and white face of Miss Riza’s dog, not Den. Her eyes stung at the realization that Den wouldn’t ever be licking her fingers again. 

As she twisted sideways, Edward swore behind her. “Dammit, Winry, stop wiggling!”

Something hard pressed into her backside that didn’t feel like automail, and reminded her of a very cold night in the Briggs Mountains. Squeezing her eyes shut, Winry clenched her hands into fists, trying to stay in control. She still couldn’t keep a squeak from escaping. Winry rolled off the couch, landing on her knees, sending the little dog scrambling out of the way. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Edward asked, sleep-rough but alarmed. He touched her shoulder as he sat up, the light-weight blanket falling off him to land in a puddle between them. His feet hit the floor, and Winry thought, stupidly, that his toes were cute. Slapping her hands over her face, she reminded herself she’d made five of those toes. “Winry?”

“I’m okay,” she said through her hands. “It’s just.” Words failed her. 

Edward slipped off the couch to sit next to her, patting her head, then sliding his hand down to the back of her neck, pulling her against him. Winry went with a sigh, pressing her face against his shoulder. Muttering, “Don’t cry,” Edward put his arm around her. “Please don’t cry.” 

She sniffed. “I won’t.” There’d been enough tears. Pulling back, Winry dredged up a smile for Edward. 

He met her eyes, searching them, seeming satisfied by what he saw there, because he nodded. His hand slid up her back to her shoulder, and he caught hold of a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his fingers. The black dog pushed his way between them, licking Winry’s cheek and whining. “Hey!” Edward said, letting go of Winry’s hair so he didn’t pull it. “You’re all wet.” He wrinkled his nose. “And stink.” 

“Black Hayate’s had a long walk this morning,” Miss Riza said, peering around the corner at them. “Are you two ready for breakfast?” 

“Yeah,” Edward said, “thanks.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair, looking down between his knees, then nudged Winry with his flesh foot. “Do you need to go use?” he tilted his head toward the water closet. 

“Thanks, Ed, I do.” She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.” 

He blushed bright red. “Yeah, uh.” Reaching up, his hand covered hers for a second, then he let her go. “Uh,” Edward cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can do to help, Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

“You could set the table,” Miss Riza said. 

Winry used the couch to help lever herself up, offering Edward a hand. He took it without complaining, standing with her help. His calloused fingers moved over hers, a quick caress, before heading for the tiny kitchen. Winry watched his hair, loose and messy, swaying past his shoulders. Inhaling, she made herself turn away and head for the w.c. She had the feeling it was going to be another long day, and she needed to make herself ready for it. 

The smell of breakfast and Edward’s yelp brought her out of the room a few seconds later. “He’s where?”

Miss Riza beckoned Winry to join them at the table. Edward practically vibrated in place with his need to move. “I was telling Edward that Alphonse is with Major Armstrong.”

“So, he’s okay?” Winry sat down, looking between them, but focusing on Miss Riza.

She nodded. “We will be going to him as soon as we’ve finished breakfast. Not sooner, Edward,” she added, as he started to get to his feet. “You need to eat.” 

“But he’s okay.” 

Winry asked, “And Paninya?” at the same time. 

“Paninya?” Miss Riza’s brow creased. 

“The little thief. She was with Al.” Edward picked up a fork, stabbing a sausage patty and putting it on a piece of bread. “She’s helped us in the past,” he said grudgingly. 

“She’s my friend,” Winry added. “She came from Risembool with me.” 

“If she was with Alphonse, Major Armstrong would have taken care of her, as well,” Miss Riza said, but the furrow in her brow deepened. 

Winry stared into her empty plate, her stomach curdling with the thought that Paninya might not be okay. Something bumped her shin, and she dropped her gaze down further, expecting to see Edward’s retreating foot. Instead, Black Hayate gave her a doggy grin. 

A sausage patty landed on her plate, startling her. Edward narrowed his eyes at her, trying to tell her something without words. He said, “Eat something, Winry,” but even his tone of voice sounded off. 

Dully, she picked up her fork and cut into the patty. “Thank you for breakfast, Miss Riza.”

“Yeah, thanks, First Lieutenant.” 

Her answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s my pleasure,” she said. “But eat up quickly. We need to move soon.” 

Winry reached across the table, touching Miss Riza’s hand. “And thanks for everything. I know we’re a lot of trouble.” 

Miss Riza blinked, and this time, her smile warmed her face. “You two are far less trouble than you think.” She got up from the table, putting her dishes in the sink and rinsing them. 

“I’ll wash while Ed gets ready,” Winry said, hopping up. The sausage sat heavy in her belly. 

“They can wait, Winry. We really don’t have a lot of time. You can change in my bedroom.” 

Something in her voice made Edward’s spine straighten, and he shoved the last piece of toast, chewing quickly. “Right,” he said, when his mouth was clear. “We’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He glanced at Winry. “Maybe I’d better transmute your clothes into something else. All that black stands out.”

Chewing on her lip, Winry glanced between them, anxiety warring with the sausage in her stomach. “Do you need me to hold the paper again?” Edward’s wry grin was her answer, and Winry set her dishes in the sink and rinsed her hands. “All right. Let’s do this.” 

X X X 

“Sir,” Captain Williams said, poking his head through the door, “you have a call on line one. Major Kimblee.” 

Archer looked up from his newspaper, snapping it and folding it before picking up the receiver and punching the button. “Archer.” 

“Good morning, Major General.” Kimblee’s voice oozed through the telephone line. 

“Good morning, Major. To what do I owe this early call?” He glanced toward the window, wondering if it might stop raining sometime today. The overhang of grey clouds made him think not. 

“Were you aware of what happened at the military hospital yesterday?”

“It was all over the radio,” Archer said dryly. “You called requesting soldiers accompany you to collect the Flame Alchemist. Instead, he died, and six soldiers, as well. The count is still coming in on those who were harmed or killed in the blast.” He took a steadying breath. “What did you have to do with it?” 

“I was a bystander.” Kimblee’s smile shone through the telephone lines. 

“I am finding that hard to believe, but go on.” Picking up a pencil, Archer began writing notes on a pad. 

“I believe my actions will exonerate me, Major General. The men I called to the hospital stopped the Flame Alchemist from destroying the block.” 

Their deaths were inconsequential, obviously. The corner of Archer’s mouth quirked down. There had been some amount of damage at the hospital, involving both an explosion and fire. None of his research, superficial as it had been so far, indicated that Mustang had knowledge of explosive alchemy. The combustible effect, however, had to be taken into account. “I see.” 

“Without their assistance, things would have been much worse, Major General.” Kimblee’s voice held a reassuring note. 

Archer was not assured, however. “Civilians were killed.”

“The Flame Alchemist is not the hero people believe him to be.” 

And Kimblee presented a danger, himself, though Archer kept that to himself for the moment. 

Kimblee cleared his throat softly. “There is the matter of the Fullmetal Alchemist.” 

“Not involved in Ishbal.” 

“No,” Kimblee purred, “but he was involved in the coup against Fuhrer Bradley.” 

Archer leaned back in his chair, considering. From what he’d read about Edward Elric, aside from being the youngest State Alchemist, he had something of a reputation – in that, no matter whether citizens had a favorable opinion of him or not, they all agreed he was fair, and tried his best. Since the eclipse, the normal people looked at the military dogs in a darker light. “From the sketchy reports I’ve read, he was instrumental on making sure that creature known as ‘Father’ was defeated.” 

Silence rang through the line, and then, Kimblee asked in a low voice, “Are you sure you want to take the risk?” 

He closed his eyes, weighing the consequences. “What are you proposing?”

“He and his brother have disappeared. They need to be detained. Protective custody, if you will, that should soothe anyone who might believe they should remain free.” 

“And what of Major Armstrong? There was a report he was at the hospital yesterday, helping to contain the fires.” Armstrong had been sent home from Ishbal, unable to cope with the horrors of war. ‘Soldier’s heart’, they called it, but it put a blemish on the man’s career. What sort of soldier couldn’t kill? 

“The Strongarm Alchemist,” Kimblee said, drawing out each syllable in a mocking tone. “He did kill in Ishbal, you are aware of that, aren’t you, Major General? It’s just that he didn’t have a taste for it. He tried to save the hostiles rather than obliterate them.” He clucked his tongue. “Such a waste of his talent. Still, what he did not do in Ishbal, he did here in Central – he was part of the coup, as well.”

Public sentiment, particularly in light of yesterday’s explosion, probably flowed in Kimblee’s direction. People, though, were fickle, and that meant Archer wanted to tread carefully. He didn’t want to alienate these people he’d been assigned to lead, at least at this moment, possibly for some time. “There will be hearings,” he said. 

“Hearings are all well and good while someone is in custody, but when they’ve vanished,” Kimblee sighed. 

“Have they vanished?” 

“They didn’t leave a forwarding address from the hospital, nor have they checked in at any other medical center in Central City.” Somehow, Kimblee managed to say it with just the right touch of sarcasm. 

Archer scribbled another note on his pad. “Are you offering to hunt them down?” 

“I do have some tracking skills,” Kimblee said, and Archer could imagine him buffing his nails on the lapel of his white jacket. “Not to mention, I am personally aware of many of their local allies.” 

“I’ll assign you a team of ten soldiers.” One more note. “Come by my office, and I’ll give you the script. In the mean time, I’ll have someone alert the police and the train station.” 

“Thank you, sir. I will be by later to pick up my orders. Have a good day, Major General.”

“Thank you, Major Kimblee.” Archer replaced the receiver in its cradle, and folded his hands together, tapping them against his mouth. What in hell had he gotten himself into with this man?

X X X 

“I can’t believe it.”

Captain Corimor looked over the rims of her glasses at the man in her doorway. “Believe what, sergeant?”

“News just came in over the wire, Cap.” Sergeant Blocker waved a piece of paper at his captain. “Yesterday, the Flame Alchemist attacked that hospital, and killed those soldiers.” His mouth turned down, his moustache emphasizing the moue. “Today, we get an alert to be on the lookout for the Fullmetal Alchemist, that he’s wanted for questioning.” 

Adjusting the glasses, she held out her hand for the paper in Blocker’s hand. He passed it over, and Corimor read it over, twice, her eyebrows slowly climbing throughout the second read. “So, we’re to be on lookout for a young man with a ponytail, missing an arm.” She let out a low whistle. “Guess it won’t be too hard to find someone like that.” Handing the note back, Corimor said, “Get the word out, Blocker. Let the staff know. And remind them, alchemists are tricky, and State Alchemists.” She made a face. 

“Got it, Cap.” Blocker tapped his finger against his forehead in a kind of an abbreviated salute. 

Corimor nodded, going back to her report, her nose buried in paper again. 

Blocker watched her for a few seconds before heading out of her office, whistling under his breath. He walked down the hallway, nodding at a couple of officers as they walked by. Pausing at the staff desk, he said, “Going on a break,” and picked up his cigarettes and lighter. 

Downstairs, it was a little quieter, and he lit up a cigarette while sitting down at an unused desk. Blocker took a drag, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhaled. He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number from memory. 

A nasal, bored, feminine voice said, “Central City _Times_ , your news is our news, how may I direct your call?” 

Blocker smiled. “Patch me through to Larkins. Tell him I’ve got a hot tip.”

X X X


	11. Chapter Ten:  Dismal Day

  
**Chapter Ten: Dismal Day**   
_All in all I, I would have to say,  
It’s been a rather dismal day._   
**Bread, “Dismal Day”**   


The café wasn’t nearly as crowded as normal, not with the rain. It showed no signs of letting up, making everything dark and grey outside. Denny Brosch tried to grin at everyone he saw, attempting to lift their spirits, but got very few smiles in return. At least he knew, when he got back home, his little cousins would be thrilled with the pastries he brought back for them. Heading to the counter, he ordered his tea, and pastries, then sat down at a table where someone had left a newspaper for him to read. 

“So, what do you think about what happened with the Flame Alchemist?” 

Denny perked up his ears, leaning back in his chair as naturally as he could to keep track of the conversation going on at the table behind him. 

“That he went crazy and attacked the hospital, then committed suicide?” The other man snorted. “Good for us, we don’t have to spend the country’s money keeping him in jail before the hearing.” 

“He was the Hero of Ishbal. And his men stood beside Fuhrer King Bradley in that uprising.” 

“Yeah, that’s what they say so they won’t get executed.” 

There was a pause, then the first man said, around a mouthful of pastry, “D’ja hear someone saw the F’metal Alchemist earlier today? Getting into a cab.” 

“See, he’s the one I thought we could trust to stand up for us,” the second man growled. “He’s just as crazy as the rest of them. I heard he helped Mustang attack the hospital, then ran off before he could get caught.” 

“Fullmetal? Doesn’t sound like him.” 

“S’what I heard.” Now his voice was clogged with dough. 

“I think we need to find where he went. There’s a reward out for alchemists now.” 

There was silence from the table behind Denny, and he imagined the two men considering that idea. Deciding whether they would go through with it. 

“A reward,” the second man said slowly, and slurped his drink. “Do you know how much?”

“Enough neither of us would have to work for a few months, maybe longer.” 

“Wife’d like that. Well, the money,” he laughed, a deep, booming sound. “Not me hanging around the house.” 

“Think,” the first speaker took a noisy drink of his tea, then lowered his voice, “think we should go looking?” 

The second man lowered his voice, too, and Denny barely heard him over the squawk of his chair over the floor. “We could.” 

“So, uh, let’s go. Can’t do squat in this rain at work.” 

“I’m with you.” 

Their chairs pushed back, and the pair of them set their tea cups down with a clatter. Denny glanced over his shoulder at them as they left the café, turning up the collars of their jackets before ducking out into the rain. 

Denny let out a soft sigh, finally noticing the headline on the paper: _Flame Alchemist: Suicide or Murder?!_ His stomach twisted up tight, and he shook his head when the waitress came to his table to give him his tea and pastries. “Can you pack these up for me, all of it to go?” He couldn’t eat anything now, he just knew it. Even if he hated Roy Mustang for taking Maria Ross away, the man brought her back, too. And now, he needed to find some way to get word to Major Elric, but he wasn’t sure how. He had no idea where he might be, if he wasn’t in the hospital any more. 

“I guess I need to make use of my investigative skills,” he murmured, “and find out myself.” Accepting the paper cup of tea, and the bag of pastries, he thanked his waitress, and left her a tip on the table before hurrying out of the café in to the rain. 

X X X

Freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, Paninya ran a comb through her hair and put it up in its regular topknot. She didn’t bother with a mirror. While she was living on the streets, she had to make do, and had never gotten used to looking at herself, anyway. There were so many other interesting things to look at. Like the wallpaper here in this room, with the giant flowers striping up the wall. The flowers were bigger than her head! And so very pink. 

The whole room practically exploded in pink, ranging from palest flesh all the way to vibrant rose, with the furniture itself providing some relief from the hues. Paninya had never been fond of the color; she preferred browns and greens, and this room made her think of some of the little girls she’d seen when she was younger, and the way they’d made fun of her with her boy’s clothes. At least, now, she had friends who didn’t tease her about the way she dressed, or her automail. But this room showed her just how much of a difference there was in the way she’d grown up, and Major Armstrong and Major General Armstrong had. 

For example, the bed! The bed alone was almost bigger than her apartment back in Rush Valley. Everything in this house was massive, from the people living in it to their furniture. And it was so clean. Used to metal shards and oil, and, well, not _sloppiness_ , but everything that involved working metal being everywhere, inserting itself pretty much into all aspects of life in Rush Valley, this plush room seemed like a wild fever dream. Not to mention the people! Paninya thought servants were people in movies, but, having stayed in this monstrous house overnight, she could see why they’d be wanted. Still, it was strange having someone check on her whom she didn’t even know. 

Then there were the masters of the house, Major Armstrong, and his sister, Major General Armstrong. At least they were friendly, kind of. She shuddered at the memory of the tall, blond woman. Alphonse had told her Major General Armstrong was known as the ‘Ice Queen’, and Paninya thought it made a lot of sense. At least Major Armstrong, he was friendly, and he really cared about Alphonse, Edward, and Winry. Paninya hugged herself. Nice as this place was, she’d feel better once they were all together. 

The sound of voices interrupted her thoughts, and Paninya popped her head through her bedroom doorway. Eyes widening, she flung herself down the hallway, colliding with Winry and Edward to give them a hug, nearly knocking them both down. 

“Hey!” Edward yelped, struggling to get free, his single arm waving wildly. 

“I am so glad to see you!” Paninya said, letting go of Edward so she could peer at Winry. “Are you okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Edward growled, tugging his shirt in place. “Right, Winry?”

Smiling, she bobbed her head, her wet hair sliding over her shoulders. “Yes! Thanks, Paninya, I missed you, too.” 

Paninya squinted at Winry, seeing dark circles under her eyes, but there was some peace that hadn’t been there before, and the familiar, sunny smile, despite the rainwater dampening her head and face. She nodded, thumping Winry on her shoulders lightly, and, finally, looked beyond her friends. 

Behind them, Major Armstrong and some blond woman Paninya didn’t recognize watched with the same sort of indulgent smiles that adults always gave kids. The woman had a strained quality to her grin, though, and Paninya wondered at that. Turning toward Major Armstrong, the woman laid her hand on his arm, and he leaned a little closer to her. “Major, thank you for letting me bring Black Hayate, considering the circumstances.” She and Major Armstrong started walking back down the hall, away from Alphonse’s room. 

Paninya cocked her head, curious about the ‘circumstances,’ but Edward was shouting, “Al! Am I glad to see you!” from inside his room. Frowning after the two adults, Paninya jigged from one foot to the other. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, glancing over her shoulder, and made her decision. Yeah, she wanted to know what was going on, but something about the way the woman looked made her turn toward the bedroom, instead. 

As she walked through the door, Winry was hugging Alphonse, and Edward had taken a place on the bed. “I can’t believe you slept in here,” he said, craning his neck, trying to take everything in. His room wasn’t much different than Paninya’s, except the coloring was darker – a dark green and burgundy, rather than the amazing amount of pink in her room. 

“It’s a lot more comfortable than the hospital,” Alphonse said, patting Winry’s hand as she pulled away to join Edward at the foot of the bed. 

“Or a couch,” Edward muttered.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Winry told him, elbowing him. 

Edward grunted, baring his teeth. 

“Yeah, I’ve missed this,” Alphonse told Paninya as she hopped up onto the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Brother and Winry glaring at each other. It’s nice, isn’t it?” As she nodded, Alphonse turned back to his brother. “Where were you?”

“With First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Seemed like the safest place to go, after everything.” Edward ran a hand over his loose hair, making his damp bangs stand up. “Glad you guys made it here.” 

“Major General Armstrong brought us,” Alphonse said. 

“She’s scary,” Paninya offered, shivering and rubbing her bare arms like she was cold.

Edward pointed at her. “You have no idea.” 

“I think I do! She’s terrifying!” Paninya stuck her tongue out at him, making Edward sneer back. 

“You mean the commander of Briggs? She’s here?” Winry swiveled between them. 

“She came to Central after you and Al went into hiding,” Edward told her. “She’s been here since then, from what I heard.” He shrugged; Paninya guessed it wasn’t his problem in that gesture. Twirling his finger in the air, he added, “This is her place, Winry.” 

“It’s big,” she said. 

“It’s fucking huge. She hid a lot of her men here before the Promised Day.” Edward made a beckoning motion at Alphonse, pointing at an unused pillow. Alphonse threw it at him, but it barely made it halfway down the bed. Edward blinked at it, then grabbed it and tossed the pillow against the footboard, using it to cushion his back when he leaned against it. “We need to make some plans. With what’s happening out there,” he waved a hand at the window, “we’re not gonna be safe, Al.” 

Alphonse’s eyes narrowed. “You said you would be. We would be.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t paying much attention to what’s actually going on out there. The newspapers aren’t reporting on everything.” His mouth tightened as he glanced toward the window. “The cab driver who brought us here had a loose mouth.” 

“So, what is going on out there?” Paninya asked, as Winry plucked at the wet sleeve of her shirt, her head bent down. 

“They’re looking for all the alchemists now, not just the military dogs. It wasn’t just the driver. I saw some signs while we were traveling this morning. Someone’s talking, and whatever they’re saying, it’s not good for us.” He wagged a finger between Alphonse and himself. 

Blanching, Winry shook her head. “No. What’s. What’s that even mean, Ed?” 

He took a deep breath. “It means Al and I are going to go into hiding. Like before.”

Alphonse coughed. “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at that, Brother. I need too much care.”

“You kind of stand out right now, too, like Ed without his arm,” Paninya said. 

Winry nodded at Paninya. “You had my case last.”

Nodding, Paninya gave her a huge grin. “I knew you’d come after it! As long as I had it, I knew you’d be okay, because it’s Ed’s arm!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edward glared at her. 

Paninya stuck her tongue out at him in response. “You know what I mean. Winry’s always going to make sure you’ve got a working arm and leg!” Winry’s cheeks turned pink to prove her point, and she pointed at them for emphasis. “See?” 

“So, when can you install it?” Edward asked, ignoring Paninya. 

Winry hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I have my kit. Whenever you want.” 

“You should do that soon.” The strange voice made all of them turn to the doorway, where the blond woman who’d come in with Winry and Edward stood. 

“First Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Alphonse smiled, looking a little sad, “it’s good to see you again. And I’m sorry.” 

Her eyelids flickered, but that was her only reaction to Alphonse’s comment. “Thank you, Alphonse.” 

“Have you met our friend, Paninya? Paninya Dhiri, this is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye,” Alphonse went on, gesturing between them. 

Offering her sunniest grin, figuring with the weather outside, it might be appreciated, Paninya said, “Hi!” 

“Good morning,” Lieutenant Hawkeye said, coming farther into the room. “I wanted to speak to you boys.”

“About what happened yesterday?” Edward studied her, rubbing his chin. 

“No, Edward, about what should take place over the next few days.” Lieutenant Hawkeye took the chair closest to the bed, settling into it. “I have been doing some research on you two leaving Central City as covertly as possible.” Her nod indicated the brothers. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up, Winry, and definitely not with a friend. I haven’t had time to make any modifications to the exit plans, but it will be more difficult, with four people instead of two.” 

“Four?” Edward half-rose off the bed. “Winry’s going to go home, where it’s safe.” 

A frown forming on her face like a thunderhead, Winry asked, “I’m what?” 

“Edward,” the first lieutenant started to say.

“Miss Riza,” Winry said, holding up a hand to stop her. “This is my decision.” Turning to Edward, she said, “I’m going wherever you guys are going.”

Edward gnashed his teeth, bristling up like an angry dog as he leaned toward her. “No, you’re not!”

Glaring back, Winry said, “I’m not going back to Risembool, Ed, and waiting for you and Al! Who knows how long this might take – I’m not going to just wait any more! You two are all I have left of my family!” 

“Gah!” Edward leaped off the bed, stalking back and forth. “This could be dangerous, Winry! If they’re hunting alchemists,” he tossed his hands in the air. 

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Alphonse said, and touched Paninya’s arm. “Either of you. But Brother’s right, if someone’s after us,” his voice trailed off. 

Paninya patted his fingers with her other hand. “We can take care of ourselves!”

“Not against a fucking mob, Paninya!” Edward snapped. “That knife and cannon are only good for one use, maybe! And Winry’s not a fighter.” 

“I don’t have to be!” Winry slapped the mattress. 

“You do!” Edward whirled, his pointer finger trembling as he stabbed it at her. 

“Edward’s right, Winry,” Lieutenant Hawkeye said. “You are not a combatant.”

Winry waved her hand at the other end of the bed. “Al isn’t either, not right now!”

Lieutenant Hawkeye nodded in agreement, also turning to Alphonse, rubbing her chin thoughtfully “But he could be.” 

“How?” Paninya asked. “I mean, he’s skin and bones.” She spread her hands a little bit. “Sorry, Al.” 

“The Philosopher’s Stone.” Alphonse said it slowly. He took a deep breath. “But Dr. Marcoh’s missing, isn’t he? Or do you know where he is, too, First Lieutenant?”

Edward clenched his jaw, and Paninya heard his teeth grinding. 

Lieutenant Hawkeye’s eyelashes fluttered, but her expression didn’t change. “As of this moment, no. Hearing what happened at the hospital, he may have gone into hiding.” Her shoulders rose and fell, as if she sighed. “Major Armstrong’s attempts to reach out to him have not borne any fruit at this point.” 

They were talking about too many people Paninya didn’t know. She concentrated on the warmth of Alphonse’s hand, and the way his fingers moved back and forth over her skin. 

“Dr. Marcoh’s here in Central City?” Winry’s question seemed to surprise the lieutenant. 

“He was,” she said, cautiously. 

“He has a Philosopher’s Stone, Winry. He…they wanted me to let him use it on me, and heal me.” The words came out slow, as if Alphonse didn’t quite want to let go of them. Paninya turned her hand to catch his fingers in hers as he spoke. “We told you what it is.” 

Winry exhaled slowly. “So, Paninya and I are…we’re in the way here, aren’t we? But Al’s not in shape for running. And Ed needs his arm. At least I can do that for you,” she said, sounding bitter. 

The corners of Edward’s mouth turned down, and he lowered his head. “This isn’t what I thought would happen, Winry.” 

“But it has, and we must do whatever is necessary to stay alive,” the lieutenant said briskly. “If that means separating, I’m sorry, but safety should be your top priority.” Her brown eyes met Paninya’s. 

She wasn’t going to let go of Alphonse, if that’s what Lieutenant Hawkeye meant. Not until he told her to. “Ed’s arm’s in my room, Winry. It’s next door.” 

With a sharp nod, Winry slid off the bed, grabbing her toolkit from where she’d dropped it. “Come on, Ed, let’s get your arm back on.” 

He grunted, jaw still stiff, and followed her out of the room. 

Lieutenant Hawkeye gave Alphonse a studying look. “Alphonse, you should probably rest.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, squeezing Paninya’s hand. “I am a little tired.” She started to slide off the bed, but he didn’t let go. “I think I’ll take a nap. Stay with me ‘til I fall asleep, Paninya?” 

She grinned at him, tossing that sunny smile toward the lieutenant. “Yeah, Al, I’d be happy to.” 

“I’ll leave you to your rest, then,” Lieutenant Hawkeye said, and left the room, pulling the door to behind her. 

Alphonse lay down, sighing. “Thanks for being here, Paninya. Even if it’s not going to be for very long, it’s really nice.” 

“Yeah, but let’s not think about that right now.” She lay down next to him. “Let’s think about how Winry’s going to yell at Ed. Because she’s about due for it, right?” Paninya winked at Alphonse. 

He grinned back, his skin stretching tight across his face. “Yeah.” Rolling onto his back, he said, “It ought to start right about now.” The smile stayed in place, even after his eyes slowly fell shut. 

X X X

X X X

Winry set down that skinny tool box of hers on the floor, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. 

“What?” Edward asked, cocking his head. 

“It’s a really nice room.” 

His lip curled up at that description. “It’s a really pink room.” It was like some sort of nightmare of a baby’s room, gone berserk. Edward wasn’t sure if the flowers on the wallpaper were really roses, or some sort of chimera plant, but they didn’t look natural. 

She scowled. “I don’t want to get oil on anything.” 

Rolling his eyes, Edward grumbled, “I can transmute it out.” 

Her eyebrows quivering, Winry snapped, “Fine.” She pointed at the bed. “Lie down.”

The bed was all pink and red and white, and Edward was pretty sure he’d sink into it if he did lie down. “Do I have to?” 

“Stop whining!” Winry gritted out. “Unless you’re going to use alchemy and make a table, this is the best we can do right now.” 

“Nnng! You are making me crazy right now, Winry!”

She opened her tool kit with a snap. “Oh, please, Ed!” 

“You are!” Edward paced across the thick carpet, hating that it absorbed the sound of his stomping. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here.” He hated it, but he had to admit he’d needed her strength last night. Winry had kept him together when he’d been falling apart. She seemed to be ignoring him. “Winry?”

She straightened, her movements stiff and jerky. “I didn’t tell you everything about your Dad, Ed.” 

Making a guttural noise, Edward grumbled, “You said enough. He told you to come here, and get Al and me, and leave Amestris.”

“Yeah.” Winry turned to face him, holding something in her hands. “But he gave me something for you guys. Well, something for Al, and something for you.” 

Edward curled his lip, not sure if he really wanted anything from the old man. Alphonse might. “What is it?” 

Winry showed him a piece of white cloth, wrapped around something. She began peeling the cloth back, and Edward recognized it then as a handkerchief. He forgot it existed at the sight of a box and a glass vial. Edward barely noticed the little box, the vial capturing his attention. The viscous contents glowed like a liquid ruby, swirling sluggishly in the vial. Edward’s breath caught in his throat. “Winry.” 

Everything crystallized, like sugar on a string, one of those first experiments Izumi taught Alphonse and him, so long ago. The room seemed to whirl while Winry and he, and the Philosopher’s Stone, stayed in place. Edward’s brain refused to connect to any of his limbs; his jaw unhinged to flop uselessly. He felt like a strong wind buffeted him inside the room. He was pretty sure Winry was talking, but Edward couldn’t hear her from the blood rushing through his body, drumming hard in his ears. His tongue bounced dryly between his palette and his jaw. He squeaked, and tried to speak again. “Do you know what that is?”

Winry broke off, mid-sentence, Edward thought, to look down into her hands. “I have an idea.” Grimly, she met Edward’s eyes. “It could heal Al, couldn’t it?”

Even though Edward didn’t want it to, his brain was whirling with ideas, modifying the transmutation circle he’d used in Bashool to heal himself. “Yeah, maybe.” The Stone could heal Alphonse faster than the dietary and physical regimes he’d been enduring at the hospital. It bypassed equivalent exchange. And even though he knew what it was, what Winry held in her hands, the distillation of so many souls, Edward couldn’t help but think how it could be used to cure Alphonse. 

“What about your arm and your leg?”

The question, innocent as it was, startled Edward out of his calculations. “Winry, that’s,” he stuttered to a stop. No, he’d paid the price for meddling in God’s realm. Bringing their mother back had been his idea. Alphonse had just gone along with it. “Al’s the one who needs it more.” His jaw flexed but he got out, “Besides, your automail’s the best!”

“You hate it.” Winry folded her arms. 

Edward huffed. “I don’t. You put your heart into your work. Really, it’s better than flesh!” When her eyebrows rose slowly, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your automail saved my life more than I could even begin to tell you, Winry.” 

“Okay.” Her head tilted to the side, and she shrugged. “Let’s get that arm installed, then. You’re probably going to need it.” She set the box and the vial aside to open the case. 

Edward picked up the vial, holding it up to eye-level. “Did he say where he got this?” 

Pulling her gloves on, Winry plucked the arm out of the carrying case. “He said it was his, Ed.” 

“His?” Edward swallowed. The old man’s life force? He’d offered to trade his life to get Alphonse back from Truth’s hall. Now, he’d given this to Winry to help Alphonse. 

“He was talking to me as he was dying,” Winry said. She nodded at the bedside table, and Edward took one of the pillows off the bed, pulling the pillowcase off. He draped it over the table so Winry could set the arm on it and not scratch the wood. “He said we should go, Ed. You, Al, me. All of us.” 

“Winry, it’s,” he sighed, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on the bed. “It’s going to be dangerous.” 

“How is that different than what happened in Briggs?” Winry tied her hair back with her bandana before turning to face him. Her face paled, her eyes going wide. “Ed.” 

Oh, shit. He’d forgotten about the scar. “Don’t freak out, Winry.” _Please._ “I lived. That’s the important thing. I thought,” he tried to smile, ducking his head, looking at her through his bangs. “I didn’t want you to cry. So I couldn’t die.” 

Both hands covering her mouth, she shuddered, like she was about to break into tears. “Ed.” His name was muffled by her fingers. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” He took hold of one her hands, pulling it away from her mouth, and laying it against the scar. “I’m fine, Winry. I promise.” 

The smooth leather of her glove glided over his skin, and Edward tried to not shiver. Catching her hand, Edward tugged at the glove, unable to pull it free as easily if he’d had both hands, but Winry helped, letting him keep hold of the soft leather. Edward bit his lip, closing his eyes as she explored the edges of the scar with her fingertips. Her touch tickled the damaged nerves, but he made himself stay still, letting her explore as much as she wanted, no matter how much he wanted to squirm sideways. His skin twitched like a horse’s, trying to shoo a fly, when she rubbed her thumb over a rough patch. 

Winry jerked her hand away. “Sorry!” 

“It’s okay, it just tickles.” Edward let himself squirm then, hoping he wasn’t blushing like he was pretty sure he was. “I guess you’d better install my arm.” Climbing onto the bed, he scooted over to the edge, where Winry had positioned the bedside table in preparation to installing his arm. 

Edward couldn’t watch while she was attaching his arm. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, barely grumbling when she applied the bio-grease to the interior of his shoulder port, even though the nerves were live there. Sometimes, the sensations at that touch made him shudder. 

“So, you saw a mechanic at the hospital?”

“Huh? I didn’t!” Edward protested, jerking around to look at her. 

“Stop wriggling!” Winry slapped his ribs lightly with her fingertips. “And your port’s remarkably clean for someone who’d been hiding out, then camping in a slum, then getting into some huge fight to save Amestris.” 

Pouting, Edward glanced sideways and way from her. “Hospital took my arm. Said it was trashed.” He refused to tell her how it’d had gotten that way. Fighting was enough information to let her have, considering she’d finally seen his scar. 

Winry grumbled in her throat, lining up the plug with the port, and inserting the arm. The ‘click’ jolted Edward slightly, the sound audible on more than one level. He felt it all the way through the anchor port, and it seemed to reverberate on his teeth and against his eardrums. His balls reflexively started retracting up into his body cavity in preparation to the nerve connection. Damn, it hurt when his automail went ‘live’. 

Fussing a few seconds more, Winry made sure the plug was properly set into the port, running a couple of quick tests on the mobility of the arm. “I’m going to connect the nerves now.” 

If anyone asked – no one ever had – Edward would swear the sensation of her setting that socket wrench over the nut that made the nerve connection between the port and the plug could make him break out into a sweat, even if he couldn’t actually ‘feel’ it yet. “I hate this part,” he growled, a familiar refrain. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Winry responded in kind, though the hand not holding the wrench’s shaft rubbed his shoulder, a brief caress. 

“It fucking hurts, Winry,” Edward said, a reminder spoken through gritted teeth. The first time Pinako and Winry had installed his arm and leg, the old hag offered him a stick to bite. He’d refused, and nearly bit his tongue off. It seemed like he’d spat blood for a week, though he knew the tongue healed fast, and it wouldn’t have bled that long. 

“On three,” Winry said, moving her hand from his shoulder to steady his arm, “one, two, three!” She twisted the socket wrench. 

Every nerve in his shoulder came alive with a horrid, sudden shock, like an alchemy rebound, or being struck by lightning. “Nng!” The aftershocks ran through his entire body. Sometimes, Edward wondered why he didn’t come after – or during – the nerve connection, considering all the other involuntary reactions under this amount of stress. He sure as hell wasn’t asking Winry, though, and he knew the old hag would’ve just cackled at him until she’d doubled over, and by the time she’d shut up, Edward knew he wouldn’t have wanted to know, anyway. 

“Are you all right, Ed?” Winry’s concerned face swam into view, making him blink to clear up the image. 

“Fuck.” 

She snorted softly, and replaced the socket wrench in the toolkit, lowering the lid with a soft snap and latching it closed. 

“Fuck,” Edward repeated, with only a little less vehemence. He took a deep breath, knowing he had to stink – more involuntary body reactions, a tendency to sweat buckets. With a groan, he got up off the bed, moving his right arm, getting his body accustomed to the extra weight and encumbrance of the automail. It moved easily as he twisted his wrist, and he anchored his metal elbow behind his flesh wrist, using his wrist to pull the arm across his chest, stretching the muscles in his back and shoulder. 

“How’s it feel?” Winry pulled the bandana from her head, tying it around the handle of her toolkit. 

“Great.” Edward smiled at her, “Fantastic.” 

“Good.” She picked up the vial. “Let’s go show this to Al, then, and get him healed.” 

Edward caught hold of her hand, covering the vial with his palm. “Winry, a long time ago, Al and I decided we wouldn’t use the Philosopher’s Stone to get our bodies back. It’s…” he’d never told her, and it hurt, to tell her now. But he met her eyes steadily. “The reason that bastard, Father, wanted to use the Promised Day, was to open a gigantic transmutation gate. He wanted…” Edward swallowed. “He wanted to use all the souls in Amestris to make a new Philosopher’s Stone, so he could confront God. Capture God. That’s what happened during the eclipse, Winry. Your soul, Granny’s, everyone’s not in the immediate circle under the military H.Q., those souls were all sucked up to make the Philosopher’s Stone that allowed Father to capture God.” 

“But,” Winry whispered, and fell silent. 

“The Stone, it’s distilled souls, Winry. That’s what it’s made out of. People’s lives.” 

“Mr. Hohenheim said it was his, Ed. And you…you didn’t see his…what he looked like before he died.” Winry pulled away and Edward let her. “His face, it…it was dissolving.”

He blinked, remembering Pride. “Like blocks, sanding away?” 

“How did you…you saw something like that before?” 

“Yeah.” Edward didn’t want to go into it, but Winry’s curiosity gleamed in her eyes. “A homunculus, remember? Something different than you or me. I told you about Greed, a little bit, probably not enough. The old man was like Greed. He’d been human, completely, once, but that bastard, Father, made him a homunculus. Something other than human. He might’ve been able to live forever, if he hadn’t,” Edward glanced toward her hand, and Winry’s fingers closed over the vial reflexively. “He released a lot of the souls in his body, I guess. That’s what Al told me. He wanted to be able to die, so he could,” ‘see Mom again’ – Edward couldn’t believe that, but he could understand it. “So he could be at rest.”

“And you and Al are in danger,” Winry said, “and your Dad said to use this, for _Al_ to use this. He must’ve known you didn’t want to use anyone else’s souls,” somehow, she said it without even flinching. “But this was his, a gift, Ed, the only thing left he could give! And you’re right, it can’t be safe here. We need to go, and Al won’t be safe himself until his body is stronger. If this, what’s inside this glass, can make him stronger, don’t you think he’d want it?”

She’d moved closer to him again, until she was barely a hand’s-breadth away, distracting Edward from his argument for a few seconds with her proximity. “Damn it, woman,” he growled. 

“Besides, I don’t care what Miss Riza says, or you say, I’m going with you.” 

Edward had the feeling if she couldn’t get her way, she’d start threatening with a wrench. Not like she needed to. There were still idiots out there who could try and use her as a hostage against him. That Bradley did it might be in some file somewhere, just waiting for someone to find it. Taking a step away, he ran his right hand over his face. “If I say ‘yes’, will you do what I tell you to do?” 

There was a long pause, and Edward glanced over his shoulder to see the shock on Winry’s face. “Maybe,” she said, not likely to give any more concrete answer than that. “I guess it depends on what you tell me to do!” 

“Hnn!” It was probably about as good an answer as he was going to get. “Yeah.” Whirling, he shadowboxed at the wall, checking out the movement of his new arm. His arm extended, Edward twisted his wrist slowly, and opened his hand, palm up. “Winry, what’s in the box for me?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t open it.” 

“You weren’t curious?”

“Hmph! I really didn’t even think of it, after I got on the train. It wasn’t ‘til I opened my kit up that I remembered he’d even given them to me.” Winry added, still sounding distracted, “Mr. Hohenheim gave me his wallet, too. It’s full of money.” 

Yeah, they’d need money, too, and Edward guessed his military account had probably been frozen. Damn it. If he’d been paying closer attention, he could’ve made a withdrawal at a bank while Alphonse was still in the hospital, and they’d have a lot of money. If he tried to access them now, someone would be alerted, like what happened when he was traveling with Lion King and Donkey Kong. “How much money?” 

“I didn’t count it.” 

“You’re not being nosy enough,” Edward grumbled, ignoring the way Winry tossed her head in annoyance. “Let’s…let’s go talk to Al, and find out what he wants to do about the,” he couldn’t say it, he just jerked his chin at the vial. 

Winry hesitated, her hand hovering above the Philosopher’s Stone. “Do you want me to carry it?”

Mouth crimping, Edward nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get your kit. You take his…his stuff.” He picked up Winry’s toolkit, slinging it over his shoulder. 

She’d wandered to the window, pulling the curtain partially back. “Look’s like the rain’s letting up.” 

“Good.” 

“Ed?” The tone of her voice caught his attention, and he didn’t even need her beckoning to join her. “Are those?” Winry glanced at him, then back out the window. 

“Soldiers,” Edward growled. “Fuck!” Grabbing Winry’s wrist, he pulled her along with him, crashing into Alphonse’s room. “Al! Get up! Right now!” 

X X X

Money was an amazing thing. Little bits of paper or metal, and people went crazy for it. Why, for the right price, one could buy nearly anything – new shoes, a house, a girl or a boy for a night’s entertainment. 

Kimblee smiled to himself, remembering his ‘Miss Winry’, and wondering if he might have time to hire her for another encounter. Perhaps, depending on what happened within the next couple of hours, he could. Or, if his sources were right, perhaps he could even have an evening with the desirable Miss Rockbell, herself. 

A cab driver heard a radio report that the military was looking for the Fullmetal Alchemist, and that he’d be recognized by his lack of an arm. It took that little detail to remind him of a fare earlier in the day, and he made a call in, hoping for a reward. His fare consisted of a young man, missing an arm, and two blond women. One had to be Miss Rockbell, though Kimblee wasn’t sure who the second woman might be. First Lieutenant Hawkeye came to mind. It might be that she had promised Flame to keep the youngsters safe. That the cab dropped the trio off within a block’s walk of the Armstrong mansion, well, that could only mean Strongarm had rescued Alphonse Elric, and there would be a reunion between the brothers and their delightful young friend. 

It really was too bad he wouldn’t be there to witness the reunion. Those three were such a delightful trio. So young, and hopeful, and believing in themselves and the strength of their love for each other. Kimblee wondered what it would be like to have the time to break them of that love, twist it, and turn it to hatred. Would it be as delicious as he thought it might? He had no doubt it would be worth it, the sheer delight in watching that love crumble to dust. Envy would have loved the game; would have been elated to assist. Well, perhaps Archer would allow him the time. It was always something to consider. 

Kimblee smiled, turning to his band of soldiers. None of them chimera, still. How awful, that they seemed to have all vanished, or been destroyed in the battle for Central City. These men were poor substitutes, but at least they were as obedient as his beasts had been. “This is the Armstrong mansion,” he said. “It is my understanding most of the family left, but Major General Armstrong may be in residence, as well as Major Armstrong, also known as the Strongarm Alchemist. While we have no reason to detain the Major General, Strongarm is on our target list, and, additionally, we have unconfirmed information that Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, and his brother, Alphonse Elric, another alchemist, are hiding out here.” Kimblee allowed the murmurs to die down. “We want to take them alive. There also may be a young woman with the Elric brothers. She is also to remain unharmed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the men chanted. 

“Excellent.” Kimblee inclined his head to his men. “Shall we proceed?” 

Their answering roar was like a symphony. 

X X X


	12. Chapter Eleven:  Deals

  
**Chapter Eleven: Deals**   
_If I only could, I’d make a deal with God,_   
_And get him to swap our places._   
**Kate Bush, “Running Up That Hill”**   


“I have heard something disturbing on the radio,” Major Armstrong said, as Riza joined him in a pretty little library – well, ‘little’ for Armstrong standards. Riza couldn’t imagine this much room for just books, but she still doubted this could be the only area within the mansion for them. She amused herself for a second that this might just be the “A” section, and that other letters had their own rooms, then realized what the major had said.

“I see,” she said, “what sort of news?”

“Edward Elric is wanted in connection to yesterday’s explosion at the military hospital. It has been implied that he was acting in concert with Flame.” 

Riza flinched, almost as if struck, and her stomach curdled. “So, it is worse than what the Colonel expected. The brothers need to go into hiding, immediately.”

“There is a tunnel under the house,” Armstrong said, “which leads to the underground transmutation circle the creature known as Sloth dug. My sister made use of it to get her men from Briggs to Central without attracting attention. As only a very few people locally are aware of the tunnel’s existence, not to mention the circle itself, it should be safe for the brothers, their friends, and you to travel that way.” He offered to pour her a cup of something, coffee, Riza thought, from the rich, dark aroma perfuming the air. 

Riza nodded. Coffee was too precious on a soldier’s salary, so she wouldn’t turn it down. “Provisions?”

“Already in place, Lieutenant. There is a car waiting. With the addition of the young women, you will have to ration the food and water more circumspectly, but you will have enough fuel to get to Briggs itself, should you want to go there.” 

“They might expect that,” Riza mused, stirring some cream and sugar into her cup and tasting the brew. 

“Yes, I agree. As does my sister. She thought you should head south.” Armstrong poured himself a cup, adding a little sugar before taking a sip. 

“If we could locate Dr. Marcoh.” Riza tested her coffee, wanting to melt at the taste of it. 

“I have been attempting just that.” He sounded gruff, leaving Riza to wonder if Armstrong and Marcoh might have deeper connections than being in the military together. Then again, she was speaking to Alex Louis Armstrong, known for his big heart, not necessarily something the military prized. 

“I believe we would have heard if he’d been captured,” she said. 

“No doubt it would be proclaimed from the rooftops.” The cup in Armstrong’s hand looked far too delicate for him to use. 

Before Riza could respond, a knock came at the doorway, and a man, dressed in black and white, stepped inside. “Sir?” She recognized him as the butler who’d let them in earlier. “I am afraid your plans must be moved up. The grounds have been surrounded, and soldiers, sir, are demanding entrance.” His lids at half mast, he added, “They are under the impression you, or someone within this household, is harboring a wanted criminal.” 

A boom echoed, however faintly, through the house. Riza’s hand trembled, coffee splashing her hand. She set down her cup, wiping the hot liquid off. 

“I believe, sir, they are now inside.” 

Armstrong rose to his feet. “Lieutenant, see to the youngsters. Merriweather, go with her. Show them to the underground. If need be, stay there yourself until I come, or my sister comes, to release you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Merriweather said, inclining his head toward Armstrong as he strode to the door. “Good luck, sir.” 

Armstrong’s stern visage softened slightly. “And to you both.” He disappeared through the doorway. 

Merriweather gestured to Riza. “Lieutenant, I had taken the liberty of moving your dog to the underground. If you would please come with me?” 

Riza got up, smoothing her hands over her skirt automatically, reaching behind to tug at her jacket and make sure of her pistol. “Of course, Mr. Merriweather. Thank you.” 

X X X

Alphonse started awake at the sound of Edward’s voice, confused for a second as to why a swatch of dark hair was in front of his face. Blinking, both his vision and his memories cleared, and he recalled enough to know where he was, and that Paninya had lain down with him. “Ed,” he whined, “I was sleeping.”

“Yeah, and you can’t any more,” Edward said grimly, “Paninya! Get out of my brother’s bed!” 

“Aw, just another coupla minutes,” Paninya groaned. “We weren’t doin’ anything but sleeping!”

“We don’t have the time!” The urgency in Winry’s voice tugged at Alphonse, making him force himself out of the warmth of the nest he’d made in his bed. 

“Why?” Paninya knuckled her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Fucking soldiers, right outside.” Edward gritted his teeth. “Al, there isn’t any time to think about this, so you’ve got to decide, right now.” He waved his automail hand at Winry. “Show him.” 

Her face set in unfamiliar, grim lines, Winry opened her hand, revealing a glass vial, full of ruby liquid. 

Paninya cooed, “Oh, that’s pretty.”

At the sight of it, Alphonse came fully awake, using the headboard to help him sit up. “That’s a Philosopher’s Stone! Winry, where…how?” 

Winry took a deep breath, but Edward interrupted before she even got a word out. “No time, Al. Soldiers are right out there!” He waved at the window. “Are you going to use the Stone, or not?”

“I-I can’t, Ed!” Alphonse whispered, clutching the sheets of the bed. “We made a promise…you know why!” 

“Yeah, but,” Edward lowered his head, the skin over his jaw tightening. “It’s your decision, Al, but you have to make it now. I can draw you a circle, if you want some help.” 

He started to wave away the Stone in protest, but saw his hand. The skin, drawn taut over bony fingers, the delicate wrist, too frail by far. His hand trembled as he watched. Licking his lips, Alphonse focused on the little bottle in Winry’s hand. “I don’t want be a burden to any of you.” He swallowed hard, reaching out to Edward, who took his scrawny hand in his own. “Draw the circle, Ed.” 

X X X

Kimblee stood back to let the soldiers stream through the doorway ahead of him. The doors were an unfortunate barrier, but truly, it was a shame to see those exquisite pieces of stained glass and ebony crumbled to bits and scattered about the foyer. He supposed that an alchemist might be able to repair what he had done, but if Strongarm was here, well, Kimblee had plans for him. The weakling of the Armstrong family, in more ways than one, Alex Louis could always be used as bait, if necessary. 

A woman screamed, and Kimblee turned toward the sound. “Ah,” he said, loud enough to carry, “Baumholser, we are not here to terrify the staff.” Striding across the marble floor of the foyer, his shoes clicking off the stone, Kimblee clasped Baumholser’s shoulder, hard enough to make the bones grate together. “I apologize for his exuberance, madam. Please, you will not be harmed.” 

The pale-faced woman gaped at him, reminding Kimblee of a fish on a hook, then she darted down a hallway and slammed a door behind her. Kimblee gave Baumholser a shake. “Do not harm any of the staff,” he reminded, and released the man by shoving him into the wall. “Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, sir,” Baumholser said, his pasty face flushed pink, though Kimblee didn’t know whether it was from embarrassment or rage. Either way, he’d remember, and sooner or later, he’d take it out on someone else. It would be a lovely chain of fury, spreading farther away from the original source. Like a stone tossed into a still pond, the waves would create an ever-widening, joyless circle, encompassing more and more people. Maybe that was what Father had actually wanted – no, he corrected himself, Father wanted something else. It wasn’t joylessness, it simply wasn’t something Kimblee understood. “May I go, sir?”

Baumholser interrupted his thoughts with the question, but Kimblee waved his acquiescence, letting him dart after the others. Turning slowly in the center of the foyer, he smiled, thinking of a children’s game. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sing-songed, cupping a hand behind his ear to listen. There was a bellow of outrage, and Kmblee nodded. Someone had found Strongarm, over toward the west section of the house. That meant he should go…east, he thought, to see whom else he might be able to scare up. 

With a smile, Kimblee headed for the staircase, thinking that the Armstrong mansion was really a lovely, lovely place. He’d have to ask to visit it again, some time, under different circumstances.

X X X 

Merriweather led the way through the halls at a pace that made Riza pick up her feet to keep up. As he rounded a corner, Riza paused, frowning. “Mr. Merriweather, wait. The others, the kids, they’re in that direction.” She nodded down another hall.

He met her eyes coolly. “Yes, ma’am, they are. However, my first responsibilities are to you. After you are safe, I will return to collect the young people.”

“That’s not good enough,” Riza said, speaking soft, so her voice wouldn’t carry, but making sure to enunciate clearly, so he had to understand. “My obligations are to protect the Elric brothers, and, subsequently, their friends. You may go on if you’d like, but I must reach them.” 

A scream, made faint by distance, broke into their discussion before it could escalate. Riza pulled her pistol, widening her stance automatically. Merriweather, she realized, had a gun in his hand, too. “Can you use that?” she asked him. 

His eyes twinkled grimly. “My family has served the Armstrongs in various capacities for untold generations. I believe I know my way around a firing range. But I also believe that the Elrics and their companions are resourceful, if they are the same people I’ve heard so many tales about from my young master.” 

Hating that he was probably right, Riza nodded once in agreement. “Suggestions as to how to stay hidden while we reconnoiter?” 

Merriweather smiled. “Come with me, First Lieutenant, and I can show you how.” 

X X X

“Paper, I need a piece of paper!” Edward spun in place, searching the room. 

Paninya was faster, lunging for a writing desk, jerking the drawer open. “Here!” She shoved a stack of pages into Edward’s hands, along with a pen, then scurried toward the door, pushing it nearly to. 

The chaos reflected what was going on inside Winry’s mind. There wasn’t enough time, not to ask Alphonse if he was really ready for this. Stepping aside as Edward leaned on the bed so he could draw a circle on a sheet of paper, Winry tried to make sense of all of it. Alphonse nodded at whatever Edward was saying – she couldn’t quite hear him through the buzzing in her ears. Paninya jigged in place, but kept her post at the door, just glancing over her shoulder. Her curiosity wouldn’t let her stay perfectly still. 

“There,” Edward said, satisfied, and held up the page. Alphonse’s eyes roved over the drawing. Winry had nearly forgotten that intent gaze since he’d been a suit of armor. 

“Got it.” Alphonse nodded once, his mouth set. 

Winry was struck by the nape of his neck, how soft and unblemished it was, pale, and knobbed in back from the lack of muscles and fat to cushion his spine. “You know what you’re doing, right?” she asked, not at all joking. 

“Yeah, Winry, I promise.” Alphonse smiled, a quick tilt of his mouth. He held out his hands to her. 

For a second, she thought he wanted a hug – for luck, for reassurance – but she remembered she still clutched that bottle. Stepping up, Winry pressed it into his palms and retreated, twining her fingers together to keep her hands from shaking. 

“I’m ready,” Alphonse said. Winry heard Mr. Hohenhiem’s voice echoing through his words. Edward shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and she grabbed his elbow. Startled, he glanced at her, then nodded, though Winry couldn’t say why. He tugged her closer and pulled his arm free to wrap it around her waist. Paninya looked away from her vigil at the door as Alphonse clapped his hands. 

Winry recognized the bell-like tone; the flash, like indigo lightning. This time, the chime extended and the spark caught the liquid inside the vial, igniting it. Ducking her head against the brilliance, Winry closed her eyes tight, but it grew brighter still. The bell continued to ring, sonorous, and drilling into her skull. 

“Damn.” She heard Edward’s exclamation through the vibrations in his chest. Risking a glance, she saw Alphonse, illuminated by the electric blue, shading into deeper purple where the vial rested in his cupped hands. His eyes were nearly green from the light, his skin pale as snow falling in the night. And his body – oh, God, his body. Winry couldn’t tell from his face if it hurt, or it was ecstasy. The muscles in his neck stood out as he threw his head back, his mouth open and his lids falling over his eyes, lashes trembling like leaves on a tree. The light swirled around his body, plumping it, a flesh and blood balloon, only Winry could see definition under his skin, the skin itself expanding to fit the burgeoning muscles and fat that a healthy human body should have. 

He cried out, dropping against the headboard, but his hips pumped up, and Winry nearly shut her eyes in reaction, not willing to witness _that_ from the boy she considered her little brother. Edward’s arm went taut around her waist, his fingers digging into her hip hard enough to bruise. She couldn’t look at him, too fascinated by the almost instantaneous changes in Alphonse’s form, the way his body rippled and rounded as the light caressed it, seeming to dive under his skin and force it into new shapes to cover the jagged bones, pushing them deeper and deeper under newly-formed muscles. Alphonse swayed, buffeted by the light, his figure charged and changed with each millisecond, so even between the blink of an eye, his body transformed. 

The light swirled one last time and vanished, disappearing back into the ruby liquid within Mr. Hohenheim’s glass bottle, and Alphonse collapsed sideways, the vial tipping out of his hand. Winry couldn’t believe the stuff inside didn’t spill away, but remained in a glowing red bubble on the rumpled bed sheets. “Al!” Edward moaned, breaking Winry out of her daze as he let go of her to grab for his brother. He caught Alphonse’s shoulders, helping him sit up. “Al, say something!” 

Paninya left the door to hop onto the mattress, stretching her hand to caress Alphonse’s cheek. “Al, come on,” she said. 

Winry remained rooted to her spot, thinking her hands had gone numb from how closely she’d twisted them together. 

“I,” Alphonse breathed out, nearly breaking Winry free from being transfixed, “I’m.” He raised his head, showing a face rounded with health and wreathed with a huge grin. “I’m fine!” He yanked Edward to a fierce hug, laughing, then let him go to snatch Paninya against him. She yelped, but wound her arms around him, hugging him just as hard. Meeting her eyes over Edward’s shoulder, Alphonse beckoned at her with a tilt of his head, and Winry wormed her way between Edward to reach him, not surprised he didn’t quite let go of Paninya to hug her, too. 

Winry wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Welcome back, Al.” 

He let go of her then to flex his fingers, holding them up in front of his face. “Yeah,” he said, wonderingly. “This is…no wonder Dr. Marcoh used it to help so many people, Brother!”

“People,” Edward mumbled, and it was as if memory struck him like a bolt. “The soldiers. Fuck! Girls, we’ve got to get you hidden.” He headed for a door, opening it, and peering inside. 

“Why?” Paninya asked. “Why don’t we just bust a hole through the window and get out of here?”

Alphonse shook his head. “There are people here, Paninya; we can’t let them get hurt by soldiers looking for us.” 

“We can transmute the closet,” Edward said, waving at them over his shoulder. 

“You want us to wait in the closet?” Winry squeaked. 

Edward pulled out of it, started to say something. He returned to her and laying his hands on her shoulders. “Yeah. I need…we need to know you’re safe.” 

“In a closet.” Paninya wrinkled her nose doubtfully. 

“Transmuted. In the shadows in there, it’d be hard to see. And, if something happens, you have that cannon, Paninya.” Edward jerked his chin at her knee. 

“I thought you said it wasn’t that great of a weapon, since I can only use it once.” Paninya folded her arms. 

His mouth tightened for a second. “Yeah, but you can use it to break out of there, too.” 

“Ed,” Winry wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “You’re not going to go fight.” 

He turned his attention back to her, leaning close enough to press his forehead against hers. “You know what I promised. It still holds.” 

“Please, Paninya.” Alphonse hopped out of bed, offering her his hand. 

She squinted up her entire face, her shoulders hunched. “I don’t like this idea.” Sighing loudly, she went on, “But I don’t have a better one.” 

“Grab your bags,” Edward said, “I don’t want anyone knowing about you two. And hurry.” He squeezed Winry’s shoulders, and kissed her forehead fleetingly. She let her hands fall free from him, watching as he turned away to transmute the closet into a hideaway. 

“Here, Winry.” Alphonse was next to her, and she hadn’t even realized he’d moved. His sunny smile dimmed only slightly as he pressed the vial back into her hands, the red stuff back inside of it, reminding Winry even more of mercury, the way it hadn’t soaked into the bedding. “I want you to keep track of this. Dad gave it to you; I think you ought to keep hold of it.” 

Her fingers closed on it convulsively. “You won’t need it?” 

Alphonse put his arm around her shoulders, kissing her forehead, too. “Dad gave it to me to heal, not hurt people. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have it.” 

Her cheeks heated up, and Winry ducked her head. “You didn’t make the same promise as Ed.” 

“Hey, he can promise for both of us.” Alphonse let her go as Paninya came back into the room, her bag and Winry’s automail case in hand. 

“Closet’s ready,” Edward announced, and grabbed Winry’s toolkit, putting it inside. “Paninya? Winry?” 

Wagging her finger, Paninya said, “I really object to this.” She thrust the automail case at Alphonse, who took it reflexively. “I can fight.” 

Edward rolled his eyes. “Will you get in here?” 

“Be careful and come back soon,” Paninya told Alphonse, catching hold of his nightshirt and hauling him close for a quick kiss. Alphonse’s face lit up bright red, his eyes huge as Paninya let him go, a self-satisfied smirk gracing her mouth. “Okay,” she said, and took Winry’s arm. “Let’s go hide.” 

Winry let Paninya pull her along, thinking back to Scar, and that time in the alley. She hesitated inside the entryway, meeting Edward’s eyes. “Be careful.” 

He grinned, a mockery of his normal cocky smile. “I will. And we’ll be back to get you out soon.” 

“You’d better!” Winry scowled. “Or I’ll have Paninya blow out the wall, and I’ll come looking for you.” 

Edward grunted, but his eyes lit up, belying his annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, get in there, Winry.” 

She stepped into the closet, heading deeper into it, and set down her bag, slipping the Philosopher’s Stone into her pocket. Edward met her eyes as she turned to watch him seal off the compartment. He pressed his hands together and touched the wall, and the chime and the lightning erupted at the same time, a new wall forming and closing them in. The last thing she saw was the flame of Edward’s eyes, before they vanished behind the wall, leaving Paninya and her in darkness.

“Well, damn,” Paninya said. 

“What?” Winry nearly stumbled, turning around. She flailed around, finding a wall, and used it to guide her down to the carpeted floor. 

Paninya sighed loudly. “I should’ve peed before I let Ed seal us up in here.” 

X X X


	13. Chapter Twelve:  The Devil Walks

  
**Chapter Twelve: The Devil Walks**   
_Can't be too careful with your company_   
_I can feel the Devil walking next to me._   
**Murray Head, “One Night in Bangkok”**   


Alex Louis strode through the hallways, heading for the main entrance of the mansion. He had no doubt if soldiers came through there, other men would be entering through the rear of the building, and, through any other entryway they could locate. There were, of course, more hidden ways than the one he’d mentioned to First Lieutenant Hawkeye. This house was old, and glorious, and if one of his ancestors had been paranoid enough to have hidden rooms and tunnels transmuted throughout, who was he to share that information, even with an ally as close as Hawkeye? Not that he expected to make use of them. He would confront those who broke down the door to enter his home as he would any intruder – with full-on Armstrong might. And, he would hope his guests would use that time to make their escape.

Keen hearing led him to the cause of a disturbance – three young men, barely old enough to shave, by the looks of them, threatened Mrs. Merriweather, the butler’s aunt, and the head cook. She held a rolling pin in hand, her doughy face pinched up tight. Alex Louis saw no bruises on her, but the glee in the young men reminded him of a pack of dogs harrying a rabbit. 

His shirt split as he flexed his muscles, his transmutation gauntlets glittering in the light. Alex Louis boomed, “Do you young men not know how to address your elders?”

Two of the soldiers turned to face him, one gaping and lowering his weapon in reflexive shock. Truly, it was child’s play to go against such as these two, dumbstruck as they were by the magnificent Armstrong physique. Alex Louis wrested the lowered gun from the soldier’s hand, emptying the bullets in a sweep of his hand. In that same move, he batted the other weapon away with an alchemic burst, melding the barrel into so much sludge. The soldier bleated at the heat transmuted into the butt of his weapon, dropping it onto the floor. 

“I would not fire that,” Alex Louis intoned, before focusing on the third soldier. He seemed to be made of sterner stuff, his own pistol raised and level, and he was too far away even for Alex Louis’s speed. 

Mrs. Merriweather proved up to the challenge, flattening him with one blow from her rolling pin. He went down in a graceless heap, the elderly woman watching as he hit the floor. She smiled tightly at her victory, slapping the rolling pin against her palm as she turned toward the other two soldiers. “Mayhap you’d best get on the floor, too,” she said. Her smile broadened as they dropped to their knees, hands raised in supplication. “I think I’ve got this, sir. You go and help the others.” 

“There won’t be any help,” one of the soldiers sneered, and Mrs. Merriweather conked him with her rolling pin, knocking him out. 

“Are you going to be quiet?” she asked the third, and without waiting for an answer, bashed him, too. “There, all good, sir. You go on, and take care of the others. And don’t listen to them. You know we’ll be fine, and rally behind you.” She shooed him, not quite brandishing the rolling pin. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Merriweather, I shall.” He inclined his head to her, and hurried out of the kitchen, searching for wherever the intruders struck next. 

X X X 

“Where the hell are we?” Edward gritted his teeth. This stupid house was so huge, he wasn’t sure how they’d be able to find their way around in it without a map. 

“Maybe we should look for a staircase.” Alphonse shrugged when Edward frowned. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, they…broke…in…downstairs and why are you looking at me like that?” 

Edward growled, waving his hand. “Find a staircase!” 

Grinning, Alphonse started down the hall, heading toward what looked like a large opening ahead. Edward followed him, watching his brother for any kind of hesitation in his movements. It still seemed miraculous, the difference in Alphonse’s body from just a few short minutes ago. He wondered what it would be like to use the Philosopher’s Stone on himself, but shook his head. He’d made his choice when he went to see Truth the last time, when he’d brought Alphonse home. 

“Ed.” Alphonse grabbed his shoulder, and Edward stopped, seeing something he wasn’t expecting. 

“Oh, shit, that’s,” he groaned. 

“Kimblee,” Alphonse finished grimly. 

Clenching his jaw, Edward watched as the Crimson Lotus Alchemist climbed the stairs. He hadn’t seen them yet, but it was a matter of seconds before he did. Edward clapped his hands together, touching the carpeted floor. The rug leaped up like a snake, rippling down the staircase. Kimblee bounced backward, grabbing the railing to keep from falling down the steps. The rug bobbed past him, a waterfall of fabric rushing down the risers. 

Raising his head, Kimblee adjusted that stupid white hat of his as he spotted the brothers. “Well, well, well, Fullmetal.” He smiled. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Kimblee.” Edward stepped out into view, arms akimbo. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same thing about you, but I saw you yesterday with Strongarm. I thought I might find you here.” He raised his hands, and Edward caught sight of the tattoos on Kimblee’s palms. He’d cut through one during that last battle, but it looked as if Kimblee had healed from that. He wondered if Kimblee still had the Philosopher’s Stone, and thought he should fight as if he did. Hopefully, he didn’t have more than one this time. Kimblee smiled, showing his teeth like an enraged dog, and clapped his hands. He touched the steps, and Edward heard a rumble. 

“Ed!” Alphonse grabbed him, hauling him back up against the wall. The explosion blew past them, tearing at their clothes. Edward’s cheek stung and burned and he threw up his automail to shield his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t reopen that healing cut above his eyebrow this time. 

“Oh, your brother is with you.” Kimblee rumbled at them, “How wonderful, Alphonse. I’ve wanted to meet you, ever since you became human again. What’s it like, coming back from unlife?” 

Alphonse stepped away from the wall. “I don’t think you’ll ever know, Major Kimblee.” 

“Do you really believe that? What do you think happened when you left me, so badly damaged? Do you really believe Pride offered to heal me?” He started climbing the stairs. 

Reminded of a cat stalking a bird, Edward waved his hand behind him. “Al, get back.” 

“We’re in this together, Ed.” Alphonse bumped his shoulder into Edward’s. 

“Sibling love,” Kimblee sighed, “so touching.” He pressed his hands together. 

Edward heard Alphonse clap at the same time he did, the chime reverberating loud in his ears. Kimblee’s transmutation exploded toward them, eating up the floor beneath their feet. Alphonse dropped to his knees, shoring up the floor and making a barricade against the explosion. Edward leaned his shoulder into it. The explosive pressure beat against it, and the barricade started crumbling from the force. “Al, we’ve gotta move!” 

Kimblee howled over the sound of the barricade falling. Edward flung himself backward, forcing his body to form an arch, his hands touching the floor. He bent his elbows, using them like a spring to propel himself farther away from Kimblee’s next attack. He landed on his feet, sliding his right foot forward and his left foot back, widening his stance. Alphonse rolled sideways, leaping up and onto his feet, his hands held in the guard style Izumi’d taught them so many years ago. 

A gap separated them from Kimblee, a minor thing for an alchemist. Edward felt rather than saw Alphonse shifting his weight and moving closer. “Al, he’s tricky.” 

“You have no idea, Fullmetal,” Kimblee said, smiling. His eyes widened as he looked past the brothers. “Miss Rockbell, how charming to see you again!”

Why the hell would she leave the closet? Edward glanced over his shoulder, mouth opening to shout at Winry to get back. 

The empty hall mocked him. 

“Ed!” Alphonse shouted, at the same time Kimblee said, “Tricky, remember?” 

Edward turned, too late, seeing Kimblee’s brilliant smile as he activated his transmutation circle tattoos, sending a blast directly at them. “Shit!” he screamed as the floor crumbled beneath Alphonse and him, dropping them into darkness below. 

X X X

Farther ahead in the hallway, Riza heard the tinkle of glass breaking, and cheers and laughter. Merriweather checked the safety on his gun, glancing at Riza as she did the same. He smiled faintly and she nodded in response. Ducking low, she moved toward the open doorway. The quick glance she took into the room let her target three men. She positioned herself in the angle of the doorway. “Put that platter down,” she said. 

The soldier in question turned, dropping the platter with a crash. He smiled at Riza. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he said. “Why don’t you put that gun down? Looks bigger than you are. It’s got to be heavy.” He patted the air. 

The two closest to him tossed the crockery they held, one of them reaching for his gun. Riza fired, clipping his wrist, making him scream and swear. “I hope you’re smarter than you look,” she said. 

Merriweather came in behind her, taking the high stance. “I sincerely hope you aren’t,” he said. “Please, do something foolish, so I can shoot you.” 

X X X

“Are you serious?” Winry nearly shrieked. 

Paninya hunched up in the gloom of their hidey hole. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to pee before!” 

“Oh, geeze!” Winry slapped her forehead. 

“Look, we can get out of here,” Paninya said reasonably. “I mean, there’s got to be a hollow wall. I can use my knife and cut through it.” 

Winry peered in her direction, seeing a faint shadow that had to be Paninya. “How is that going to keep us hidden?” 

Paninya gaped at her. “You seriously want to stay in here with everything happening out there?” 

“Well.” Winry drew out the word, rubbing her chin. “The last time I interrupted Ed in a fight, I nearly got the two of us killed!” 

“You’re both still alive, aren’t you?” Not waiting for an answer, Paninya bounced to her feet. “Seriously, I’ve got to pee.” 

Winry groaned into her hands, especially when Paninya knocked twice in the same place. She was pretty sure she could feel Paninya’s delight. The ‘whish!’ as her knife popped out echoed in the small room. Paninya twisted her leg, cutting through the wall. She kicked twice, and knocked a hole in the plaster. “Come on, Winry!” 

Well, the hiding place was ruined. What else could possibly go wrong? Getting to her feet, Winry decided to leave her toolkit behind. “This is a bad idea, Paninya.” 

“So is peeing in the closet,” Paninya reminded, and trotted toward the bathroom. 

Sighing, Winry followed her, wishing, right now, this very second, she’d stayed back in Risembool. 

X X X 

The noise alchemy makes, particularly explosive alchemy, is one a man cannot easily forget. Alex Louis gasped at the sound of it, the name escaping him like a breath. “Kimblee.” He ran toward the familiar sound, trying to keep from remembering Ishbal, and everything that occurred in the desert. 

_The sudden flare of heat, like a midday sun, struck him like a blow. Closing his eyes against it, Alex Louis kept running, even though the sand sucked at his feet, dragging at him, keeping him from moving as quickly as he could. The Ishbalans would be shooting soon, and there would be nothing he could do to stop them. It wasn’t right – alchemists were supposed to be protectors of the people, not attack them for no reason. And there was no good reason to wage war on Ishbal. He’d done his studies on it, before the State Alchemists were sent out to the desert, and could find no rationality in war with the desert people, nor any real reason as to why the war had dragged on as long as it had._

Alex Louis shook his head, forcing his brain to the here and now. He was in Amestris, inside his own home, not in Ishbal. Not in the desert, where the sun had sapped his will and joy, and the orders had destroyed his mind. Where trying to help people only led to their deaths, and where his own life shattered into pieces like broken glass. This was Amestris, this was Central City, and his own people needed his protection now. He would not fail them. 

Roaring, he charged into the foyer, seeing a flash of white on the ruined staircase. “Crimson Lotus!” he roared. 

Kimblee looked over his shoulder, a smile stretching across the distance at him. “Strongarm! You and the Elric brothers? This is like a special, special gift.” He began descending the stairs. “I’m afraid they’ve fallen down.” He shook his head. “I would think that Fullmetal would have become accustomed to that particular trick, but he seems rather thickheaded.”

“Are they alive?” Alex Louis had to know, hoping he would not have to bring the news of their deaths to Miss Rockbell. 

“If they survived the fall.” Kimbley pressed his hands together, and touched the railing. It lit up like a fuse, the fire racing down the wood. Kimblee ran down after it, seeming to nearly fly. 

Alex Louis punched the floor, his gauntlets allow him to transmute it into a pillar of wood and carpet, then clouted it again, sending a flurry of missiles up the stairs to strike at Kimblee. The crackling wood of the banister forced him to react to that, too, and he punched the railings, shattering them into flinders. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see dust, a slow cloud rising from beneath a closed door. It was the only thing not moving at an incredible speed: Kimblee’s lunge, his transmutation of the railing, his own transmutations of the floor. 

The wooden missiles didn’t explode. Kimblee dodged one, the other crashing into the curving wall. He still raised his arm to block the wooden pieces shattering toward him. Grunting, Kimblee missed a step on the stairs, righting himself almost instantly. Alex Louis used that flinch to send another wooden barrage at his opponent, hoping to cause the Crimson Lotus to stumble, if not fall outright.

Kimblee staggered but didn’t go down. His white suit bore spots of blood and wood splinters, and he squinted out of one eye. It didn’t stop him from leaping the rest of the way down the stairs. A red light flickered around his damaged eye – something Alex Louis recognized from his battle with the behemoth on the day of the eclipse. 

“You are a homunculus!”

Running a hand over his hair, Kimblee smoothed it somewhat. “You guessed my secret, Strongarm. How charming. I’m afraid it won’t help you, though.” He tugged at the lapels of his jacket to straighten it. 

Alex Louis remembered that fastidiousness from Ishbal. He wondered if there was a way to use it against Kimblee. “I have fought your type before.” 

“I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t.” 

Wondering if Kimblee was talking to give himself a breather, or if he had a plan in mind, Alex Louis tried to utilize his other senses. “I know you have soldiers with you. Where are they?” 

“Don’t worry, Strongarm. I’ve told them to leave your staff alone. All I want is you.” He pursed his mouth, blowing Alex Louis a kiss. “Well, if Fullmetal and his brother did survive their fall, I’d like them, too.” 

Alex Louis didn’t react to the kiss. “What is this about, Crimson Lotus?” 

Kimblee’s glee chilled Alex Louis, especially as the man raised his hands, angling his palms to slam them together. “It’s about a friend of mine, and how he died.” 

X X X

Alphonse groaned, prying his eyes open. Everything spun for a few seconds, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting. Breathing shallowly in his palm, he managed to keep control of his stomach, and tried to remember what had happened. 

Underneath the destruction, this looked to be a living room, though a lot nicer than any he’d ever been before, including the Fuhrer’s. It wasn’t as pretty as it probably should have been. Debris littered the floor and the furniture; dust still drifted around, making it hard to breathe. Alphonse coughed a couple of times, groaning at the sudden shock of pain, like an ice pick stabbing into his shoulder and igniting his entire arm. “Damn it!” What had he done? 

“You still with me, Al?”

The weak question caught his attention, and he pushed up onto his hip, biting his lip to keep from screaming. “Yeah, Ed.” He hated that his voice quavered. “Are you okay?” 

“Fuck,” Edward groaned, and Alphonse heard something clatter. He tracked the sound of it. A couch shuddered and a piece of flooring, or maybe ceiling, crashed as Edward kicked it out of the way, his leg appearing from out of the rubble. Using the couch, he hauled himself upright. Blood streamed down the side of his face. So much for the bandage he’d been wearing earlier; it hadn’t protected that old scar. Edward swayed, smearing blood when he rubbed the back of his hand across his face. 

Alphonse got his feet under him and managed to push upright. His left arm hung at weird angle, a relentless pain shooting through it. “I think I dislocated my shoulder when I fell.” 

Stumbling closer, Edward hissed through his teeth. “I don’t know if I can pop it back into place.” 

“I’m not letting you try.” Alphonse grimaced. Edward hesitated before picking up Alphonse’s arm. “Damn it!”

“Oh, suck it up, you baby,” Edward grumbled, sounding remarkably like Winry. “Hold your arm.” He waited until Alphonse had his arm cradled, then pulled off his shirt, biting it to start a hole. Edward ripped the shirt into strips. It didn’t take long before he made a serviceable sling made, tying Alphonse’s arm against his chest. 

“I can’t do anything like this, Ed.” 

“You can walk.” 

“I can’t fight!” Alphonse kicked at some debris, nearly losing his balance. 

The sound of a transmutation alerted them both. “The hell?” 

Alphonse growled. “Kimblee!” He started to move, realized his balance was off without use of his arm. It didn’t matter. He had to be stopped. 

“He had a Philosopher’s Stone, remember?” Edward put out a hand to keep Alphonse steady. 

“I know,” Alphonse bit out. Each step jarred his arm, making it ache that much more. His jaw started hurting, and he realized he was gritting his teeth. It took his mind off his arm, a little. “Walk faster, Ed. I can handle it!” When Edward opened his mouth to protest, Alphonse growled. “I mean it. We’ve got to stop Kimblee.” 

“All right, all right.” Edward looped his arm around Alphonse’s waist, hauling him closer. “Let’s go.” He half-hauled Alphonse through the debris, muttering under his breath. 

As they got close to the door, Alphonse grinned, unable to resist. “And you, remember, Winry’s safe. Don’t fall for Kimblee’s tricks this time.” The ringing in his ear from Edward’s scream of protest was totally worth it. 

The boom shook the floor, nearly throwing them off their feet. Alphonse staggered hard into Edward, yelping at the new agony flooding his arm. 

“Fuck this!” Edward snapped. “We’ve got to get out there – Al, I’ve got to get out there!” 

“Go. I’ll do my best to catch up!” Alphonse shoved Edward away from him. Giving him a look, Edward nodded sharply, then scrambled over an end table, sprinting for the door. With his brother gone, Alphonse let out a soft moan, hoping he’d be able to catch up eventually. 

X X X 

The soldiers restrained by their own socks – Riza admitted she wouldn’t have thought of using footwear as bindings. Merriweather deemed them able to be left behind, at least, in the pantry, with a chair shoved under the doorknob. “I would think that whomever planned this would have chosen a higher quality thug,” Merriweather told Riza as they left the men to stew in their own juices. 

“I’m fine with this caliber of soldier.” It made handling them easier. “Where do you suggest we go?” 

The explosion came from the left, shaking them hard. Riza grabbed the wall for support as dust and plaster rained down on her head. Merriweather ducked, shielding his skull with his forearm. The house groaned like it was in pain, then settled with a thump. 

“Well,” Merriweather said, dusting his curling hair, “I’d say we head in that direction.” He pointed down the hallway. “I have the feeling the major’s there, and he may need our assistance.” 

Riza nodded. “Lead the way, sir.” 

Merriweather grinned, pulling his own pistol out again. “Oh, let’s go abreast, shall we? United front and all.” 

She couldn’t find it in herself to smile back. “All right.” Checking the safety on her gun, she said, “Let’s go hunting.” 

X X X

Strongarm blocked the explosion with a transmutation of his own, as Kimblee had expected. He didn’t expect Armstrong to use that same transmutation against him, and was forced to explode it before it reached him. _If it was easy, you wouldn’t enjoy it,_ Pride said. 

“Oh, you’re still with me?” Kimblee leaped sideways as more missiles sailed his way. “I am honored, Selim.”

 _Don’t use that name!_ came the petulant response. 

Armstrong appeared in a cloud of dust and smoke, reminding Kimblee of images of the Sun God, Leto. His bare chest peppered with debris, he strode forward. “Crimson Lotus, you are much, much slower than the homunculus I fought previously.”

“Is that so?” Kimblee drew his hands apart, preparing for his next strike. “I doubt anyone can outrun alchemy.” 

A gunshot echoed in the space, and pain bloomed in his wrist, a poisonous flower. Kimblee turned, seeing a pair of gunmen, only one he recognized. “First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye,” he purred, belying the agony in his arm. “I am surprised to see you. I’d assumed you would be in mourning, perhaps laying flowers on the pile of ashes in front of the hospital.” 

She presented herself as a small target, on one knee near the remains of the staircase. Lines bracketed her mouth and circles ringed her eyes, proof of her own agony over Flame’s demise. Kimblee could almost taste the sorrow flowing from her in waves. He licked his lips, savoring it. “Tell me, Hawk’s Eye, were you the one who fired the shot that killed Flame? It seems like something you might do, to give him rest, when he deserved anything but.” Shock rounded her eyes and made her tremble, the muzzle of her pistol wavering from his words. He barely had the time to savor her expression before it hardened into her shooter’s mask, and she fired. He touched a wall and a shield exploded out of it, deflecting the bullets zinging toward him. 

“Crimson Lotus!” Strongarm bellowed, but Kimblee was ready for the attack, and barely flicked his hand, destroying the missiles Armstrong threw at him. Alex Louis always went for the dramatic and the overly large. His attacks were easy to defend against. Bullets, on the other hand, were small, and one already lodged in his wrist. Kimblee felt his body pulsing around the foreign object, trying to force it out so he could heal. Ruby light flashed around the wound, spilling out with the blood, tickling him as the Philosopher’s Stone worked against the bullet. 

Kimblee thought it would be a shame to destroy Hawkeye, but he didn’t trust her not to kill him, especially not after his goading. He could see her, gritting her teeth, eyes narrowed to slits with the effort to keep from wailing. Touching his hands together, he flung explosives at Hawkeye, making her fire in response. Amazing, she could shoot them out of the air like that. A bullet winged by his face, slicing his cheek. It seemed like they were moving so slowly, and Kimblee knew they weren’t. He twisted back to check on Strongarm, not surprised to see the behemoth of a man lurching toward him. Kimblee stopped him with another round of explosive transmutations, ignoring the pain in his wrist when he pressed his hands together. 

A door slammed open, and Fullmetal dashed through it, clapping his hands. “Kimblee!” he roared, “you fucker!” 

Hawkeye fired at the same time, a second gun joining hers. Maybe there’d always been a second gun. 

_They want you dead, Kimblee._

He smiled. “It would take more than this attack to kill me.” 

Fullmetal transmuted the floor, sending it up like ribbons in an attempt to capture Kimblee’s legs. He batted at them, slicing them into shreds with his hand, red streamers falling from his fingers. Armstrong sent yet another barrage of missiles while Hawkeye and her companion fired their weapons. Bullets and transmutations ripped through the air, making it difficult to see. Kimblee laughed, clapping his hands, the pain in his wrist fading. He took another bullet, to his hip. The bone shattered but he stayed upright. He sent a wave of explosions toward the staircase, laughing when the stairs detonated, flinging Hawkeye and her companion like dolls. 

“Is this really the best you can do? Two State Alchemists and a pair of guns?” He spread his arms, spinning slowly in place. A target to tempt the most jaded warrior, bait dangling on a hook. 

Fullmetal snapped at the bait, slapping the floor again, sending it toward Kimblee like a wave. Kimblee dropped to one knee, touching the floor, flinging half of it at Fullmetal, and half of it at Strongarm. Fullmetal screeched and ran partway up the wall to avoid it, his body spinning mid-air as he tossed himself backward and over the top of the transmutation. “Kimblee!” he shouted again, touching his hands together. His automail arm transmuted into a blade, the one that had cut through Kimblee’s palm tattoos before. Landing with a heavy thump, Fullmetal sprang forward. Armstrong punched what was left of the floor at the same time, sending a spike of wood and earth, solidified like concrete, spinning at Kimblee. 

A fusillade of bullets came from near where the stairs had been, startling him. Kimblee tried to raise a barrier, but didn’t move fast enough, the bullets riddling through his shoulder and chest. Agony peppered his torso, each bullet its own torture, especially as his body fought to try to expel them. 

_They want to kill you,_ Pride gloated. 

Fullmetal suddenly appeared, descending from a high arc, leading with his left foot. His boot crashed into Kimblee’s cheek. The impact dislocated his jaw, a tooth breaking free. Time slowed around him as he stumbled backward, Edward following him down. How, Kimblee wondered, did someone half-metal become so agile? His body landed on the broken flooring with a thud. Something stabbed up into his solar plexus and he looked down in surprise, seeing a spike of wood, punching up through the center of his body. 

Fullmetal dropped to his knee next to Kimblee, grabbing the front of his shirt. “You killed him!” he screamed, his metal fist cocked up over his shoulder, the blade less than a hand’s breadth from his throat. 

“Edward!” a woman’s voice rapped out, “stand down!” 

_They’ll fight over you like dogs for the right to kill you._ Pride’s image inside of Kimblee’s mind solidified, the dangerous smirk, so like Envy’s, in place again. _They’ll rip you to shreds._

Edward Elric was no killer, Kimblee knew it. Still, staring up into the boy’s face, he had his doubts. Edward trembled, his lips skinned back from his teeth, his eyes blazing in fury. Hawkeye limped up behind him, Strongarm following behind. Kimblee could barely see them around the halo of Fullmetal’s hair. Licking his lips, he asked, “So, First Lieutenant, you didn’t answer my question. Did you kill the Flame Alchemist?”

Fullmetal fell back in shock, his eyes suddenly wide, twisting hard to look over his shoulder at her. “Lieutenant?” he gasped. 

Kimblee took the advantage, slamming his hands together and reaching for Fullmetal. Beyond him, he could see the realization, hard and fast, in Hawkeye’s eyes. She pointed her gun past Fullmetal’s head, squeezing the trigger. Strongarm lunged, too far away, as Kimblee’s hands landed on the automail arm, the only thing he could reach. 

Fullmetal screeched in shock as the arm exploded, the heat traveling up and into the nerve port. Kimblee smiled, clapping his hands to activate the circles again as Edward fell toward him. 

_No!_ Something inside him swarmed with the intensity of a kicked wasp’s nest. Pride squeezed out of the cage Kimblee’d kept him in, revenge evident in his smile. Trying to touch Fullmetal, Kimblee realized he couldn’t move, his body frozen in place. 

“Why?” he managed to creak out, as Strongarm snatched Fullmetal out of the way. 

Hawkeye squeezed the trigger at the same time Pride smothered Kimblee, screaming, _You killed my mother!_

X X X


	14. Epilogue:  Beside You

  
**Epilogue: Beside You**  
 _Count on me to be beside you_  
When you got to go  
 **The Kids from C.A.P.E.R, “Wrap Up All My Dreams”**  


“I can’t believe you destroyed my automail,” Winry scolded, sitting next to Edward on the couch.

Edward groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Winry, I didn’t. Kimblee did.” He shuddered, remembering what had happened immediately afterward. Hawkeye had shot Kimblee, but even as she fired, Kimblee’s face suddenly twisted, becoming rounder and younger, and the only way he could describe it was his face _ate_ itself. Swallowing hard, he tried to push that image away from him, as far as he could, peering at Winry through his fingers. “You’re the ones who left the closet.”

Winry shrugged with a grimace, her cheeks only slightly flushed in embarrassment. “Paninya had to pee.”

“I did,” Paninya agreed cheerfully. “Besides, it might’ve gotten interesting out there. But we missed everything!”

“So did I,” Alphonse moaned. He lay on a bed, an ice pack on his shoulder. Edward didn’t want to think about how Major Armstrong had manipulated Alphonse’s arm to pop it back into place, either. 

“You didn’t want to be in it,” Edward said grimly. He closed his eyes, wishing, briefly, for something stronger than the aspirin Winry practically shoved down his throat. Everything blurred from the point Kimblee destroyed his automail. Kimblee’s transformation seemed a nightmare, particularly after that agonizing jolt of pain. After his face swallowed itself, his body shrank down, kind of like Envy’s had, but looking more embryonic. It had spoken in a voice that reminded Edward of someone scratching their nails down a blackboard, saying that all debts were paid. It twitched a couple of times, then a Philosopher’s Stone appeared, almost like a sleight of hand trick, and the little creature destroyed the Stone the same way Envy had. Edward shuddered again, wishing there was a way to blot out all those images from his brain. It kept wanting to focus on them, though. 

Paninya sat on the foot of Alphonse’s bed, folding her legs under her. “It was nice of Major Armstrong to pay for rooms for us.” 

Edward agreed. He’d offered to stick around, provide the police – because they needed to be called – with his version of the events, but both Lieutenant Hawkeye and Major Armstrong insisted they leave. “You do not need to be involved in this,” Major Armstrong said, and all but threw them into a car. A driver appeared to haul them to this place, what little luggage they had in the trunk. Edward really didn’t want to think about what this place actually was – the rooms were a hell of a lot nicer than what he was used to at a military hotel. First Lieutenant Hawkeye had forced a note into Edward’s hand to give to the woman behind the counter of The Scarlet Cock, a large, older woman, with her hair in knot on top of her head, smoke from her cigarette spiraling above her. She’d accepted the note, and yelled at a young woman to take them upstairs. That was another weird thing, there were only women in this building. Edward really didn’t want to think too much about it, and why First Lieutenant Hawkeye knew about this place. A pretty young woman led them to two adjoining rooms, and promised food to be brought up to them. 

Picking at the shirt he wore – something Major Armstrong had transmuted from his own closet, Edward twitched his shoulders. It fit now, a little more closely than Edward liked, but at least he’d been able to leave the Armstrong Mansion clothed. And, a hot shower later, and some food, he almost felt human, aside from the faint throb of pain lingering in his shoulder port. “Still think we should’ve stayed and made a report.” 

“We didn’t see anything,” Paninya shrugged, flopping sideways on the bed. 

“I did.” Edward tucked his left arm against his torso, shifting uncomfortably. A warm hand rubbed his shoulder, and he glanced sidelong at Winry. 

She tilted her head. “What happened?”

Exhaling through his teeth, Edward looked past her. “A fight,” he finally said. “And Kimblee died.” 

Silence hung in the room, long enough to become uncomfortable. Alphonse seemed about to speak, but Paninya popped up abruptly, slapping the mattress. “Hey, Ed, if Al got that weird red goo, what’d your Dad leave you?”

“I don’t care,” Edward grunted, relieved she wasn’t asking any more about what happened in that battle. 

“I do.” Alphonse sat up, catching the ice pack as it slid down his chest. “Where is it?”

Edward waved his hand, making a face. 

“In my toolkit,” Winry said, and got off the couch. She crossed the room, and Edward watched her butt as she bent over to pick up the kit. A snort caught his attention, and he noticed Alphonse’s huge grin. Sneering, Edward tossed an obscene gesture his brother’s way, making Alphonse snort louder. A knowing grin on her face, Paninya gave Edward a thumb’s up. “What’s that for?” Winry asked, turning around, her eyebrow twitching.

Paninya turned her fist sideways to point her thumb at Edward. “Ask him.” 

Her attention focusing on him, Winry tapped her foot on the floor. Edward wrinkled his nose, made a face, and beckoned her back to the couch. She offered her hand out to him, palm down, something caught in her fingers. Edward opened his palm to her, and she dropped the twine-wrapped box. 

“I can’t exactly open this,” he grumbled, wagging the box at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Paninya swinging her feet off the bed to land on the floor, leaning forward. What the hell was that about? Ignoring her, Edward passed the box back to Winry as she sat down. “You do it.” 

“It looks like your earring boxes,” Alphonse said, nearly making Edward wince. 

Winry huffed, and began working at the string, managing to work the knot free and letting the string fall on her thigh. She opened the box. 

“Well? What is it?” Alphonse asked. 

Frowning, Winry raised her head. “A pair of rings?” She turned the box in her hand to show it to them all. 

“Oh,” Alphonse said breathlessly.

“Looks like wedding rings,” Paninya gloated. 

Edward felt like he’d taken a punch in the gut. Damn it. Hohenheim had been whining about Mom the last time Granny’d see him. When had he bought Mom a set of rings? And then he gave them to Winry to make sure his eldest son would get them. Fuck. 

“Well,” Winry passed the open box to Edward, blushing. 

He couldn’t look at her as he accepted it, the box heavy in his hand. Edward thumbed the lid closed. “Uh. Thanks,” he squeaked. What the hell was he going to do with the rings, anyway? Well, he had an idea, but, yeah, he was pretty now wasn't the time to do it. 

“Geeze,” Paninya said, rolling her eyes, “you two. It’s like him giving you his approval! Would you just kiss each other, and go on to that other room, and let Al and me work out how we feel about each other?”

“Paninya!” Winry yelped. 

Alphonse nodded, grinning. “That sounds like a great idea!” 

“Al,” Edward whined. 

“Not listening, Brother. You and Winry need to,” he waved his hand at them, “get out of here.”

Winry blushed harder, her hands fisted on her thighs. 

Edward grunted, nudging her with his elbow. “Come on, let’s let Al lose his virginity.” 

She jerked around, horrified. “Ed!” 

“Brother!” Alphonse strangled out. 

Edward grinned wickedly, managing to get to his feet. “C’mon, Winry.” 

She wrinkled her nose, but rose off the couch, leading Edward to the door. Oh, her butt really twitched when she was angry. Edward’s smile got broader. Watching Winry definitely took his mind off of Kimblee. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. 

X X X 

The knock on the hotel door surprised Archer. He hadn’t expected anyone to be visiting at this time of the night. Picking up his pistol, he walked to the door, not standing in front of it, but beside it. “How may I help you?” he asked. 

A paper folder slid under the door, and someone said, “Read that.” 

He could hear someone retreating down the hall, and waiting for a full forty seconds before he stretched his foot out to pull the folder to him. He carefully picked it up, and went deeper into the hotel room, and settled down on the closed toilet seat. Opening the folder, he read a report on an encounter that took place at the Armstrong mansion. The death of Kimblee made him purse his mouth. Relief relaxed his muscles, letting him exhale deeply. 

The report was signed by both Major Alex Louis Armstrong and First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. There was no reason to not believe it. And, the last two pages in the folder were the signed resignation papers of one Edward Elric, Major, known as the Fullmetal Alchemist. The fact that Lieutenant General Grumman signed the papers gave them an extra weight, even though the man was dead. There had been duplicate papers like this found in the Elric hospital room, but both sets were original. 

Archer snorted softly. “This almost wraps up everything too neatly,” he said, leaving the water closet to go to the hotel door. He opened it to peer out, seeing the major and lieutenant, waiting in the hallway. “Why don’t you both come in, and we’ll discuss this further?” 

“Thank you, sir,” Major Armstrong said, and gestured for the lieutenant to precede him into the room. 

Archer had the feeling it was going to be a very interesting discussion as he closed the door behind them. 

X X X

Paninya lay on the bed next to Alphonse, staring up at the ceiling. “Wow.” 

“Yeah, uh,” Alphonse blushed, rolling onto his side and touching her wrist with a hesitant finger. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would just – just _go off_ like that.” 

“It’s okay,” Paninya turned her head to grin at him. “I mean, you – we – I haven’t done this before, either.” She twisted onto her side, taking Alphonse’s hand. “But it’s a learning experience, right? I mean, you probably weren’t very good at alchemy when you started. And I wasn’t as great at working on roofs as I got to be, the first time I did it.” Playing with his fingers, she molded them to the shape she wanted, and laid his hand on her breast. 

Wide-eyed, Alphonse looked from his hand up to her face. “So…you’re saying?”

Her smile grew. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again. And keep trying ‘til you get it right.” 

X X X 

Winry sat on the couch, her hands between her knees, staring at a space between her toes. Edward paced the space between the couch and the bed. As rooms went, it was pretty overblown. Winry thought Mr. Garfiel would like it, with all the fluffy pillows and thick carpet, and the flocked wallpaper. It smelled clean, which surprised her a little, considering what she thought might happen in this room on a normal night. But maybe this really was some sort of actual hotel, rather than what she thought it was. With a name like ‘The Scarlet Cock’, well, despite the red rooster logo, Winry thought it wasn’t a normal hotel. That Miss Riza sent them here surprised her – and made her think maybe there was more to this place than met the eye. 

“Winry.” 

She blinked, looking up at Edward. He’d stopped almost directly in front of her, his arm hanging loose, his hair a damp mess. “What, Ed?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and slapped his hand over his face. Winry thought he muttered something like, “This is so fucking hard!”, but it was so muffled, she couldn’t be sure. 

“Ed, the rings,” Winry tightened her mouth. “It’s okay, I mean, I don’t…” She hesitated, realizing she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. 

“About the rings. Can we just…not talk about them?” Edward dropped his hand from his face, jigging from one foot to the other. With a groan, he came to sit down on the couch next to her. “I know why the old man gave them to you. It’s...” he gulped. “Kind of embarrassing.” 

Winry snorted. “Does that mean you don’t want to…?” She wagged her finger between them. 

“Not right now!” Edward blurted, then jerked, like a whipped horse. “I mean. Not immediately. Sometime…maybe soon, but not.” He whined, his shoulders slumping. 

Folding her arms, Winry scowled. “So, what is it, Ed?”

“I want to, all right? It’s just we’re both…we need to grow up some, first.” With a sigh, Edward leaned over his knees. “We - _I_ fucked up, Winry. Trying to bring Mom back. I figured out somewhere along the way, that night fucked all of us up, Al, me, and you. You shouldn’t have gone through any of that, either.” He shook his head, his gaze lost somewhere in the past. “And if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to stand, or even walk. I never thanked you for everything you did. Hell, I didn’t even think about it ‘til I saw you in Rush Valley, with all those people who trusted you with their lives. I mean, I knew you. I knew your work was good. I didn’t realize how good it was until I was in a fight. I was losing, Winry. He was beating me good. But your automail, it helped keep me safe. And it’s given all those other people back their lives.” Falling into the couch with a thump, Edward dropped his head onto the back of it. 

“Thanks,” Winry said, tentatively, not sure what Edward was getting at. 

He lolled his head to the side to look at her, reaching for her wrist, pulling her hand out from between her knees. He kept tugging at her hand until Winry let him have it. Edward laid her hand on his thigh. Running his thumb over her knuckles, he sighed. “We had to grow up so damned fast after that night, Winry. I know we’re old enough to…to get married. But just for a little while, I want to be a kid.” 

Winry watched his thumb move over the back of her hand. “I don’t know if we can go back, Ed.” 

“I don’t either.” Edward picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “But I want to try.” He tilted his eyes, meeting hers. “I want you to go with me, wherever I’m going. I know that’s a lot to ask. You’ve got your customers in Rush Valley. And I’ve got Al.” 

“Your dad wanted us all to go to Liore,” Winry said softly. “Someone’s supposed to be waiting for us there.” 

Edward considered. “Winry, I don’t know how things are going to be now. Someone may still be after us. With Kimblee dead, maybe not. But people don’t want alchemists now. No one knows Al, but me. He’d probably be okay, if he wanted to go somewhere by himself.” He shrugged with his right shoulder. “People may want me dead. I shouldn’t be selfish, and ask you to come with us.” Turning on the couch, he released her hand, only so he could stroke her shoulder, running the tips of his fingers up her neck to her jaw. 

Winry tried not to shiver. “Do you really want me to come with you?” 

Leaning close, he kissed her. “Yeah.” Pulling a scant breath away, he met her eyes. “I want you to. I need you to.” Edward pressed his forehead against her temple. “If you decide to go back home, or to Rush Valley, I’ll come with you. I may not be able to stay, but.” His voice trailed off. “I’ll do my best.” 

Winry closed her eyes. She thought of Mr. Garfiel, and Tetsuo, and all of her customers in Rush Valley. They were counting on her. And she had so much more work to do. She wanted to get her journeyman’s license. She wanted to learn more about automail, and become the best possible mechanic she could be. 

She wanted to be with Alphonse, and watch him learn to live again. He and Edward were counting on her, too. And she wanted to marry Edward Elric. 

His body tensing against her, Edward began trembling. “I - I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to put everything you want to do on the back burner.” 

“Ed.” Winry slid her arm around his shoulders, twisting as hard as she could to kiss his cheek. “I already told you I wasn’t waiting any more. I’ll come with you,” she said. “But I have to find a way to make your automail!” 

“Nng! You crazy gearhead!” Edward showed his teeth, but Winry could hear his relief. “It’s not a big deal!” 

“Until you need your automail for something – I don’t know, keeping your balance when you’re walking?” Winry poked him in the ribs. “You know you need that arm, dummy.”

“Gah!” He tossed his head. “I don’t know why I bother even talking to you! Automail this, gears that. Blah, blah, automail, blah, blah.” He puppet-talked with his hand, grunting again when Winry poked him. 

“Jerk!” 

“Automail junky!” Edward snapped. Winry grabbed his ponytail, using it to pull Edward closer. He squawked and bleated, struggling to break free. “Ack! Ack! Winry, leggo!” She tugged at him again, catching hold of his chin. “Help.” 

“Shut up, Ed.” Winry kissed him, letting go of his hair to cup the back of his head. 

“Hmm…” He relaxed enough to kiss her back, putting his arm around her. “I hope you don’t regret coming with us.” 

“I’m not going to regret it. And it probably won’t be just me. I’d bet Al’s going to ask Paninya to come along, too. And someone’s got to keep an eye on all of you.” Smirking, she asked, “You don’t really think Paninya will keep you out of trouble, do you?” 

“Geeze, the thief,” Edward rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe Al and her. I thought he was into that little bean girl. His taste in women is awful!”

Winry slapped his chest. “Paninya’s sweet.”

Edward pulled her tight against him, probably to keep her from slapping him again. “You’re sweet. Sometimes.” He kissed her, then kissed her again. “Liore?” 

“It’s not so bad.” Winry accepted another kiss. “It needs some work, but the people are nice.” 

Huffing, Edward kissed her again. “If you say so. Think you can make my automail there?” 

“There’s a blacksmith shop. I’m pretty sure I can make the parts. The wiring, that’s going to be the problem, and the bushings and hydraulics.” Winry squirmed. Edward kept leaning into her, kissing her repeatedly while she talked. “Ed!” 

“Hnn?” 

“I’m going with you. We will have time.” She pushed the hair back out of his eyes. “And we’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Edward whispered, hugging her. “You’re right. We’ll be okay.” He glanced toward the bed, then her, waggling his eyebrows. “But maybe we could move somewhere more comfortable?” 

Winry snorted. “You’re not going to offer to take the couch?” 

“Hell, no.” Grinning, Edward let go of her, but only long enough to propel himself off the couch. He offered Winry his hand. “Come on.” 

Sliding her hand into his, Winry got to her feet. It wasn’t what she’d planned for herself, but Winry had learned things didn’t always go the way the plans were made. As long as she had Edward and Alphonse, everything would turn out okay. She was sure of it. Spotting the box on the dresser, Winry suddenly remembered something, and leaned back enough to ask,” Hey, Ed? What happened to my earrings?” 

Everyone in the building probably heard his horrified screech. 

X X X


End file.
